


Cow skin closet

by sxcbts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alison!Stiles!Lydia!bestfriends!, Allison is also a baddie, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Bestfriends!Kira and Derek, Bonding, Character Growth, Cute Derek, Descriptive animal abuse, Everyone needs a Danny, Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Hardcore, Isaac deserves nice things, Jackson is a bully but gets soft, Kira and Derek are the same age, Lydia is a bitch but will also get soft, M/M, Magic School, Magic Stiles Stilinski, Marking, Mates, Nightmares, No one knows Stiles is magic, Oblivious is bliss, Pack Dynamics, Pack conferences and conventions, Pining, Scenting, Scott McCall is a cutie, Sharing beds, Sheriff Stilinski is called Noah, Skip prologue if it triggers u pls, Slow Paced, Spark!Stiles, Stiles Returns to Beacon Hills, Stiles abroad, Stiles is a baddie, Stiles is lowkey insecure, Stiles’ boarding school friends, The Hale Pack loves Stiles, Unresolved Sexual Tension, alpha!twins, bashful!Derek, beta!derek, british accent Stiles, confident!stiles, dates but not really, fashionable Stiles!, intelligent!stiles, kinda dark lol, lots of action later, multilingual!Stiles, pacing, pack mum stiles, possessive, slight homophobia, slowburn, soft, tattoo!stiles, the start is slow but it really builds up, will add as we go, you’ll probably love this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 89,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxcbts/pseuds/sxcbts
Summary: “He slowly pulls his gaze upwards, from the small letters on paper to the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. Stiles sits there, a book in hand, cup in the other, chest and shoulders vibrating along with the rhythm of his laughs. It’s loud, bubbly, concerning, and absolutely amazing.”orin which Stiles tries to control the bundle of creatures trying to kill people he cares about while attempting to hide his sparkly magic - there’s also the not-so-subtle crush on a particular broody Hale. God he feels 12 again.-!!!! PLEASE READ LATEST CHAPTER (Chapter 9) FIRST !!!!
Relationships: Allison Argent & Lydia Martin, Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Cora Hale/Isaac Lahey, Danny Mahealani & Jackson Whittemore, Derek Hale & Kira Yukimura, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Jackson Whittemore & Derek Hale, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Melissa McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Talia Hale, Vernon Boyd & Isaac Lahey, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 72
Kudos: 290





	1. Sunny (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ!!
> 
> There’s some descriptive violence in this fic of animal abuse. Please skip over the Prologue if it triggers you. 
> 
> Oh and thank you for picking this, I hope you enjoy! I’m probably updating everyday since I have nothing better to do haha
> 
> Enjoy !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet young Stiles and find out what happens to him that he ends up leaving Beacon Hills.

Stiles for most of his life is pretty average. Well he’s 7 but 7 years as he argues, is a long time. It’s a big jump from 14 to 21. So, as he argues with his mum in the kitchen, if he isn’t allowed to go play by himself and his doggie, that’s 7 whole years without doing anything by himself, so how is he supposed to _grow?_ How is he supposed to grow up to be the family doctor? To be the next officer after daddy? That’s 7 whole years he could’ve used to be a big boy and grow up properly. And, as he keeps arguing, as his mother she should be with this all the way. What’s more important than a child’s growth?

With a few grunts and annoying looks his way, and an innocent puppy look he mimicked from his dog right back at her, she sighs and ushers them away. Stiles beams, he’s seen the older kids at the park guilt trip their way into something they want and he can’t believe it worked. He calls for Sunny, short for Sunshine, (Stiles argues his fur could rival the sun) grabs his lead and packs the snacks in his bag before giving mommy a kiss on the cheek and off he goes. 

There’s something just so exciting about being out by himself. He could go underneath the bike hurdles and over without being scolded, he can walk up to a tree and give it a big hug, and he can eat his snacks this early without having to wait hours. He walks to Scott’s to pick up his best friend, and together they lead his doggie into the park not too far away from home.

He absolutely loves his dog with his whole heart. Sunny is family. He still remembers when he got him for his 6th birthday party. It wasn’t as big as his 7th one where almost practically the whole neighbourhood and his whole school year were there, but there were enough people he’ll lose sight of his mom. The doggie, now the same height as him, was tiny and could hold him in his tiny little arms. He’s pretty sure he fell in love with him then. Well he already has a crush but as mummy says a crush and love are two different things. Well, doesn’t stop him from pursuing them both.

It’s been a few hours of throwing the ball, frisbees, rolling about in the grass with his love and Scotty, eating snacks together when his watch beeps. Time to go home! He’s quite happy with his first outing by himself and he’s definitely going to be boasting about this with the other kids. Packing up quickly to go home, he notices Sunny’s ball is missing. As he looks around the grass, Scott gives him a goodbye hug and a sorry for not being to help as his dad’s come to pick him up. They say their goodbyes and Stiles returns to looking for the ball.

Heading over near the swings he looks around and calls for Sunny. When there’s no dog jumping on him or no dog barking in response that Sunny usually does, he looks back. Sunny is nowhere to be seen. He calls for him, maybe he’s just on a potty break. But after calling him over and over he’s still not back. Stiles is very worried, walking around calling his name. He’s going to scold him when they get home, well after his mom does for coming home late.

He walks further and further away from the park and into the wide plains of grass calling his name. He hears a bark. He just knows it’s Sunny’s Bark. He heads for the trees into the woods, running after barks and now… whines? He spots his amazing golden fur and the sounds of flesh meeting something. Once at the clearing, his knees drop underneath him at the sight.

His doggie, Sunny, on the floor on his side, whining for help as three kids older than Stiles continuously beat his love with bats. There’s so much blood, and Sunny is _crying_. Sunny is so scared. Sunny’s ball is in his mouth desperately holding on. He’s limp and barely moving, as the kids hit and hit, not even stopping when they hear cracks, laughing so hard one of them almost chokes on his own spit. One of them spots Stiles, tapping the person in front, as he turns to look and Stiles’ heart drops to his stomach.

They’re his bullies. They’ve been tripping him, using excuses to hit him, stealing his crayons and pencil cases. And at the centre of it all, Matthew. Since his 7th birthday party they haven’t given him a break. And he’s tried so hard to make sure his mom doesn’t find out, took everything he got from them without complaint. He didn’t want to worry anyone. But this? This is too much. And all Stiles can see is red.

“There he is! Come join stupid Stilinski!” They go for Stiles, their baseball bats drowning in blood, and all Stiles can do is stare at the unmoving dog not too far away from him. He’s stopped whimpering, whining and his eyes… they won’t move. Stiles pushes one of the bullies away, running for Sunny. He drops down, hands shaking so much to even touch him. He can’t stop the tears from leaving, his throat aches and he just wants to sob.

“Sunny..?” He calls out, stroking the fur on his head. “Sunshine… i’m sorry.” He sobs out, tears streaming his face and his body shaking so much it scares him. He ignores the footsteps and snickers coming up behind him until one of them lays the bat on his lap, and rubs it on him. “Gotta take off the dirt.” The other joins, rubbing the bats full of blood all over him. The one he pushes earlier is now in front of him. “Watch out Stilinski.” He brings the bat back, going for a swing, “Payback for earlier!”. And Stiles is so angry he’s whole body is screaming.

So Stiles screams. He screams so loud as all he sees is red. Some kind of invisible force has hit all three, throwing them back and against a tree. Stiles slowly stands up and takes a bat, dragging it behind him against the grass with an unreadable expression. His whole body is buzzing, itching underneath his skin making him move. And he knows the _exact_ way of making the itch go away.

Swinging the bat back and high, he shifts the weight in his feet and hits with a loud thud against Matthew’s stomach, making him gasp. He goes for another, on his legs and doesn’t stop even if he hears cracks. Matthew is screaming and crying for help and all Stiles can think about is how Sunny couldn’t even do that. He turns and suddenly the other two are right next to him, on the floor, eyes closed and barely moving. They all watched his Sunshine whimper and whine as they all beat and beat him up. So he’ll do the same.

He moves, quick and powerful against them, hitting them with the loud crack in the face, deep into their chests, on their knees and shins. They cry for him to stop, shouting things like “We’ll do whatever you want!” And Stiles chuckles. He doesn’t know how, but he’s acting the quickest and strongest he’s ever felt, and he doesn’t know how but none of them can even move and he’s so fucking glad he chuckles. He can make them feel how Sunny felt, how powerless he felt.

Stiles doesn’t notice that he’s gone faster and stronger, that the bodies on the floor are no longer moving, that there’s blood all over the bat and on their bodies. Their eyes, unmoving. Not until he hears his mother call for him. He turns, his mother standing with a shocked expression on her face as she walks over to him. Her eyes dart from the lifeless dog to her bloody son whose eyes are completely white and to the 3 lifeless boys circled around him. And she immediately understands what happened.

In a swift motion his mother is right next to him, taking the bat and handing it over to his father whom he didn’t even notice. She grabs and carries him with an unreadable expression. “Sunshine!” He calls out, not wanting to separate from him. She looks over the dog and nods at her son. With a click of her fingers, Sunny starts hovering and floating right behind them. As soon as they’re out of the woods and Stiles can hold onto his dog’s paw, he smiles and his body relaxes in his mother’s embrace, passing out.

__

Stiles wakes with the sun in his eyes, his legs wrapped in blankets and his bed soaked with sweat. He blinks his eyes, looking around and realising he has no idea where he is. Panic hits him simultaneously as a splitting headache does, screaming in pain as he fists his temple. It hurts so much. He falls on his side onto the floor, whimpering and sobbing from the pain.

Someone touched his side, and he immediately flinched away in fright. He looks over at the woman, wrinkles creased at her eyes and cheeks, silver hair and eyes so green it looks fake. His lips shiver as he speaks.

“W-Where’s m-my m-mom?” The woman clenches her lips and sits on the floor slowly in front of him. She crosses her legs in a graceful motion and gives him a warm smile.

“Your mother has gone to the river to help out. She will be back soon.” He frantically scans the room, not recognising anything. He’s in some sort of hut made of long green leaves all tied up with each other and the sun hits him from the rectangle hole on the side.

“Your head hurts doesn’t it?” The woman questions, opening her arms.

“Y-Yeah… so so much.” He cries out, fisting in his head just to make it stop.

“I can make it stop. Come”. He looks at her welcoming arms, to her tan skin and warm green eyes. He doesn’t know if he should trust her, he honestly just wants his mom, his dad, but the way she looks at him… He stretches his fingers in his hair, and with a slow reach, crawls over and into her lap. She strokes the back of his neck and looks into his eyes.

“For the pain to go, I have to do something more painful okay? You’re so strong, young man”.

“M-more hurt?” He whispers, shaking even more.

“Yes. But you’re going to have to let me in okay? I’m going to help you merge it together.”

“Merge?”

“Yes. You need to stay awake. Do you hear me? It is very important that you stay awake.”

He nods, convinced nothing could hurt more than what he’s feeling right now. She strokes his hair back and he stretches across her lap. She places her hand on his bare chest, the other on his head and mumbles something in a language Stiles doesn’t understand. Stiles is more frightened now, nothing is happening and the woman has not moved except for her lips. Suddenly, she shot her eyes open and her eyes were green. Not just the pupils, all of it. Stiles is about to move away when his headache gets worse and he feels like his whole body is splitting into two.

“AHHHH!” He screams as he squirms underneath her hold. He keeps trying to move her hands but they stay rooted there like they’re locked. He struggles to stay awake, his whole body so painful he just wants to sleep through it. He has no idea how long he stayed rooted there, screaming and moving on her lap. The splitting stops and he looks down at his leg, something just stabbed him. Then he goes _limp_. His whole body feels like something thrusted in and squeezed his flesh about. There’s a knot in his head and stomach. His eyes are white and he’s sweating seas.

_Stay awake stay awake stay awake stay awake stay awake stay-_

Then warmth. He feels a warmth wash over him like a blanket, quickly relaxing him. The woman’s hold on him is released, stroking his chest and head, comforting him as she whispers. “You did such a good job young man. I’m so proud of you. Your mother and father are also proud of you.” He tries to grin at that but fails, his tired muscles can’t move.

“You can rest now.” She kisses his forehead and stands gingerly, laying a new blanket on the soaked sheets and laying him on it so gentle like he can break any second. Stiles lays there, his eyes fluttering shut as he listens to the whistles of birds and the wind against the trees.

__

When Stiles awakens he can hear the movements and bustling of the people outside. He can hear the children playing, the adults chopping wood and others laughing. He can hear the fires, the splashes of water, the twits of birds and quick footsteps. He looks to his side, relieved to see his mother there. She’s holding his hand, head resting right next to his body. He doesn’t feel the headache, nor is he tired. He feels… cool. Energetic. He feels good even.

He retreats his mother’s hold on him and sits up, looking around. He’s in the same hut as he remembers. He watches his mum shuffle awake, blink at him in surprise, before she throws herself at her 7 year old son in happiness. “I’m so thankful! You’re awake and- are you okay? Do you feel any pain?” She touches his face, carefully stroking his cheek.

“I’m fine mom.” He goes for a hug, not minding one bit that his mum is literally about to crush him by how tight she’s holding him.

“No pain? Whatsoever?” He beams at her. “No. Not anymore. I feel… nice.” She tackles him once more, and they giggle as she kisses his nose.

The woman from before walks in, leaning against the walls and watching them with a smile. “You were such a strong little man.” Stiles blinks at her, before smiling.

“Was it you? That made it… not hurt anymore? Will I ever feel like that again?” She strolls over and sits on the edge of bed. Ruffling his hair affectionately, she shakes her head. “No. Never again.” His shoulders relax instantly,

“There is something we need to talk about young Mieczyslaw,” he looks up, confusion on his face. His mom only ever calls him that when he’s in trouble, “Do you remember what happened?”

“What happened? What do you… what do you mean?”. She looks at him for a moment and clenches her lips again. She looks at his mom, and she stares back before nodding her head.

“You don’t remember do you?”

“I-I remember…” Suddenly, images flash over his eyes. Of him running into the woods. Of him seeing Sunshine. Of him touching his limp body and saying sorry..

“I remember Sunny,” he turns to his mother, urgency in his voice, “Is he?” His mother kisses his forehead with assurance. “He is fine. He is no longer in pain.” Stiles nods quickly, then slowly… tears stream his face at the memory of his love.

“Mieczyslaw do you remember what happened after?”

“I… I hurt them. The bad boys. I think… I think they’re gone.”

“How do you know that?” she says, her voice softer.

“They weren’t moving. They were just like Sunny, their eyes couldn’t move.”

“Do you feel happy?”

“I… I don’t know.” He answers honestly. He remembers being happy and angry as he hit them as they hit Sunny. But now… he feels kind of sick. He gags, his mother immediately reaching for a basket and Stiles throws all his remains in.

“I’ll go get you something to eat and drink.” She stands, smiling a little and leaving. He ate his food in silence, the memory of hitting the boys repeat over and over in his head.

Over the next few weeks all he does is sleep, eat, puke, and poop. He’s so tired of it. Of everything. When he asked the lady why he kept throwing up he was hit with an answer he didn’t understand.

“Now that your body has settled, it is now getting rid of all the bad things in your mind, spirit and body. It will be awhile until everything settles. But once it does, you’ll feel amazing Mieczyslaw.”

Once his mind and body has settled and he’s stopped throwing up, he misses his dad more than ever. He has no idea how long he’s been in this room, but today he leaves it for the first time. The sun hits his pale skin and everyone stares at him. He sees for the first time where he is. He’s in the forest, huts and people stretching everywhere around him. He’s scared and his skin is buzzing. The lady and his mum guide him, walking with him in the forest and introducing him to the people.

“When can I see dad?”

“Soon sweetie.”

The lady tells him that to settle a spirit like him is like settling a tsunami, or a tornado. Even earthquakes. He doesn’t quite understand, but he thinks she means it’s hard. He asked her if she needed to do that thing again, to which she replied with a firm no and he felt more than happy with that answer.

“From now on you must settle it yourself.”

“When can I go back to Scott and Daddy?” His mum squeezes his hand at that, leaning over and picking him up with ease. “Not for a while sweetie. For now let’s focus on making you better, okay? So that when you see Daddy he doesn’t have to worry.” Stiles nods, not wanting to upset his dad.

“What about Scotty? He’ll be lonely.” His mother sighs, kissing his cheek. “When you’re better okay?”

Stiles doesn’t know how much time he’s been here until his mother surprised him with an 8th birthday party. Everyone’s there, including all the friends he’s made. There’s his favourite berry juice, pumpkin and squash soup and flower crowns. It took him a while to converse with anyone but he picked Polish up easily, never really speaking English unless with his mom. He misses his dad and best friend badly, but the buzzing underneath his skin lessens everyday. So he knows he’s getting better. So he’s going to wait.

Everyday before the sun rises the lady wakes him up and walks with him through the forest, all the way to the creek. Usually they just sit, staring as the sun rises and going back down once it has, and everytime they do the buzzing isn’t even there. However, this time she speaks.

“Your spirit is settling. Fast.” He perks up at that, beaming at her.

“Does this mean I get to go home?”

“Normally yes. But you can’t.” Stiles stands, angry.

“But you said-“

“I said you can once you’re better. Once your spirit settles you’ll need to learn how to control yourself.”

“Control myself?!” He shouts, angry beyond relief. He’s done everything, he’s been ever so patient, because he knew once it’s better he can go home. But now…

“So that what happened before never happens again.” He stills at that, dropping on the floor.

“The trees… they speak to me. Tells me they know I have taken life. Tell me my actions have consequences. Is that… what it is you mean?” She scoffs at that.

“No. I am not a tree.” She turns to him, “ I have taken life too. For balance, because I need to… for many reasons. However, because I am capable of taking life, I needed to understand death and life as it is. And you, young Stiles, are young. You are young and powerful. Your power awakened by grief and would’ve only fed on grief. It was too much. And you collapsed. When I forcefully settled your body, I took the grief with it. But your other emotions become heightened.”

“What… what does that mean?”

“It means your grief will never be extreme. You’ll experience it, but you won’t react like you did over a loved one ever again. Some say that’s a bad thing. Personally, I think it’s good. Especially for someone with such great powers.” She holds out a hand and places it on his shoulders, “you’ll experience extreme happiness. Extreme longing. Extreme jealousy. You’ll experience emotions people never do all their life. And your magic will explode. You need to control it.” Stiles stares at her bewildered, trying to take all this information in.

“If you want to protect the people you want to, learn about yourself. Learn every fold and corner. Experience everything. Know as much as you can. Always be the smartest and wisest person in the room.”

In the time he’s been here, he’s spent more time with this lady not everyone else. He has no idea what her name is, how old she is, her place in this village but he knows she is wise and powerful. And she cares for him. So he eagerly nods, taking everything she’s saying, trying to tattoo it in his mind.

“Take every opportunity you can to feel and experience everything. Know death. Know life. Become a Spark no one has ever seen before.”

“Is that what I am? A spark?”

“Yes. The first in centuries.”

“What are you?”

She turns to him with a smile. “I’m a guardian.”

The conversation stops there, her eyes closing as the wind flies by her hair. As they walk back to the village, she speaks again.

“I will leave soon Mieczyslaw. I will no longer be here to guide you. Someone will come with an offer. You must take it.” She kisses his forehead, “You are a good person Mieczyslaw.” And heads for her hut.

Everything was normal for a while, until Stiles woke up from the murmurs and shuffling of feet. His mum looks at him in confusion, as they walk out their hut. Everyone’s bending down, bowing towards a white glow in the distance. It’s her, it’s the lady. However, she looks young, long black hair with no wrinkles anywhere on her face. She still looks beautiful.

She smiles at everyone, spotting Stiles and winking after mouthing something towards him. She then turns around and walks into the deeper, darker parts of the forest. It’s so silent. No one moves, no animal or plant. Once the glow has disappeared, everyone slowly stands, heads hung low in sadness. His mum taps one, asking what has happened. He looks at her with crying eyes. “Guardian Abertan has returned to her realm.”

A few weeks after Guardian Abe left, Stiles is saying bye to everyone. Now that she’s gone, Stiles’ place in the village is dangerous, as his spirit is not settled. The Druid village elder comes forward with news.

“I have spoken to the headmaster. She is willing to take him in once he is 9. His spirit must be settled by half by then.” He looks at his mum, confused, but all she has are smiles. She hugs the elder with a bright grin.

“Thank you so much. We are embedded to you.”

“Nonsense Magician. It is the least I can do. I am sorry I can not do more.” He turns to the young boy.

“Will you like help with your power?”

_Someone will come with an offer. You must take it._

“Yes.”

Stiles gets hugged by most of the village, all of them sad to see them go. He’s made a place here, a home even if it was short. He has favourite places to go alone by the creek or to sit at Sunny’s grave telling him about his day, places to have fun with friends by the river, teachers telling him about herbs and spices and Guardian Abe to sit with to watch the Sun rise. He’ll miss them. He watches in fascination as his mum opens up some sort of portal, and with a final goodbye they go through. He remembers the words mouthed at him with a smile.

_I’ll see you again_

__

It’s been a few weeks of waking up, meditating and going back to bed. He and his mother now live with Babcia, who’s a Sorcerer, which made Stiles’ eyes almost pop out of their sockets as she brings them all over the world for food she craves or when she wants to go shopping in Hong Kong. Basically, his grandma is awesome.

In the summer, he woke up as any other day. Yet when he strolls past the living room his eyes saw someone his brain had a hard time catching up to. Slowly retreating his steps, he stares with saucers for eyes at the man.

“DAD!” he’s so happy the lightbulbs explode.

He ignores it though, jumping onto his dad with pure glee plastered on his face. His Babcia mutters some curse word in Polish as she cleans up the glass.

“Woah… did you do that son?” Stiles looks around, an apologetic glance towards his mum.

“This is why I said no surprises.” His mum pops some new light bulbs in her hands, twirling a finger as they screw in.

“You have that ready already Claudia? Jeez how many times do you explode the bulbs?” He looks at his son that has a mischievous look on his face with brows raised.

“This is nothing. When he came through… the uh portal the whole neighbourhood had no power for hours due to his excitement.” Babcia says with a thick polish accent.

“I can’t believe you’re here dad!”

“Of course I am! You’re about to go to boarding school in Scotland in a few months. I need to spend as much time with you as I can.”

For the whole summer Stiles felt normal. Except for meditating any chance he got or exploding sinks and lightbulbs at the slight of excitement, he’s so happy to be with his dad. To have the whole family together. They’d go fishing, went to tourist spots with his dad, trekked in forests and woods, they went to Spain and Malaysia for most of it though. His 9th birthday present was a letter from Scott, which made him cry for hours in his Babcia’s arms and for the first time no light bulbs exploded. Well his bathroom sink did splash all over him. He forgot that he was starting school in August until his mum showed him a package that came. His new school uniform. He groaned so loud his grandma hit him on the back of his head.

When they teleported to the outside of the school gates with his family a few days before school starts, he was surprised to see a few others teleporting as well. There was magic everywhere. Stiles can feel it. That electrifying feeling is everywhere. He felt… home. All of a sudden he was no longer nervous out of his wits, he was so excited he made his father levitate. Which made passersby laugh their asses off. His father gave him a firm glare as Stiles watched him levitate higher and higher.

“Stiles!”

In the corner of his eyes, he sees another floating man. He watches as a little dark-skinned girl laughs and points at him. The two bump at each other in the sky, holding onto each other for dear life. Stiles without thinking, goes up and offers a high five. The girl looks at him, a bit confused, until his father calls for him again and he winces. She looks between the two then something clicks, giving Stiles a firm slap on the hand. And together, they laugh at their floating dads.

He’ll learn, he thinks. He’ll do everything he can.


	2. Scotty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles returns to Beacon Hills and settles.  
> Scott being a total weirdo. 
> 
> Stiles remembers his first love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!!!!
> 
> This chapter has a slight thing with a privileged American saying immigrants are taking all the jobs. Don’t worry, Stiles tells it to her straight!
> 
> For those who have read the Prologue who are triggered by descriptive animal abuse before I put the warnings in the beginning, I am so incredibly sorry. It was not my intention and as a writer I should’ve made very specific warnings. 
> 
> I shall put very specific warnings from here on.

When Stiles returns to Beacon Hills a few months into the new school year, he’s just as Scott remembers him. Witty, sarcastic and someone who  _ can’t  _ keep still. He loves it, knowing Stiles hasn’t changed all that much from the Stiles in his memories. 

It’s like a breath of fresh air when he walks into the Sheriff’s house, it no longer reeks of stress and longing. Longing for his family which were half way across the world for years. When his mum told him that Auntie Claudia had passed away last year, he wished so strongly to be with Stiles, to comfort him and be here for him. 

Other than the letters they’ve exchanged over the years, he’s never actually seen Stiles. No skype calls, no texts or phone calls since they were 9. He knows how expensive an international call is, but  _ really?  _ For 7 years their only point of contact was a bunch of handwritten letters? What are they in, the medieval age? 

So excuse him, excuse the shocking gasp he lets out when he sees Stiles standing in his room all tall and  _ grown.  _ In his mind, he’s always imagined the 7 year old Stiles replying to his letters, though it was hard imagining a 7 year old using the words  _ “fucking flackity fuck”  _ or  _ “orgasmic asshole”  _ to describe their feelings. 

Stiles smells like old spices and pinewood. He smells of the calming sea, silver and…paint? He can also smell the hint of the bleach of hair dye and something electrifying that’s gone as soon as it comes. He smells exactly as the scents he’s been leaving on his letters, with a little bit of something else he can’t grasp on. 

With a bright grin, Scott easily lifts him up for a huge hug, rubbing his face into his chest with Stiles chuckling.

“Hey  _ dude,  _ put me down!” Stiles exclaims in a poor American accent, slapping Scott’s back. Scott breathes his best friend in, his best friend that he always wanted to see and be with again. 

When Stiles left, Scott had no one. Stiles didn’t even say goodbye. He asked his mum everyday if Stiles was coming back yet, but when he started middle school he stopped asking. He realised, he’s not coming back. They still wrote back to each other, but letters delivered halfway across the world to Scotland took  _ time.  _ And in the time he waited for a reply, he sat and brooded by himself in his room, shoving his face into his pillow to drown out his parents screaming at each other. For a good while, the letters were the only good thing in his life.

When he started middle school, he found something good.  _ Friends.  _ They hung out, watched movies together and he found someone he could be with all the time. He wrote all about them in his letters, happy he had Stiles to tell about all their adventures into the woods, sleepovers and the fact that it wasn’t just his mum anymore that waited for him to get better from an asthma attack. Stiles will always be his best friend, but Stiles wasn’t  _ here.  _ He’s happy that Stiles never seemed to care that he called them his best friends, and how genuinely happy Stiles was for him. 

He spent the summer before Freshman year by himself. He got into an argument with his  _ Beacon Hills best friend  _ and the rest started ignoring him and hung out with the other instead. It was the first time he felt so lonely since Stiles left. When they got back from the summer vacation Scott definitely wasn’t invited to, he tried talking to them. It worked out, they were all friends again.  _ Or so he thought.  _

When he wasn’t picked for first line for Lacrosse, but the rest of his friends were, he got picked on. A lot. His friends defended him for a while but soon it turned to  _ them  _ picking on him instead. His best friend is ridiculously good at Lacrosse, not to mention he’s quite the looker and soon got really popular leaving Scott behind. 

The best friend who would sit with him for hours in the ER holding his hand, crying his eyes out, worried over the roof, with his mum the only one able to calm him down. His best friend who would shower him with toys after an asthma attack and sleep with him until he knows Scott feels better. Scott would sit in his room remembering when they were all there for each other, when one started questioning his sexuality, when another was going through problems at home, when his best friend was tired of his parents not being  _ there…  _ They’d all comfort each other and Scott was so happy he had them. 

No, not anymore. They all left him behind. And honestly Scott’s done crying about it. 

A week ago when Scott’s mum told him that Stiles is coming back to Beacon Hills, he was beyond  _ ecstatic.  _ He was giddy for the whole week and didn’t even care for his ex- best friend’s snickers and snide comments at him. His  _ true  _ best friend was coming back and the grin he couldn’t help having 24/7 worried his mum a little to be honest. 

Scott finally puts Stiles down, a bit shocked to realise he has to tilt his head up a little to be eye level. 

“I missed you too.” Stiles mutters, not in his poor American accent. 

“Huh?” Scott questions, poking Stiles’ side. 

“In your recent letter… you said you miss me a lot.” Scott beams at that, jumping on him to hug the living daylights out of him. 

“Let me love you!” Scott squeals.

“Love me  _ after  _ my head hasn't collided with the floor.”

—

Stiles isn’t all that surprised that Scott is all over, always touching him when he even goes to the bathroom. Even when they were little, Scott would trail behind him holding onto the hem of his jacket everywhere he went.

What he’s surprised about, is the fact that Scott keeps fucking  _ sniffing  _ him. His clothes, his luggage, his books and his bed. Frankly it’s weirding him out. 

“Ya mug, cut it out with the sniffing. Do I reek that much?” 

Scott glances up from his head in Stiles’ pillow and smirks, “Haha yeah.” He grabs Stiles’ wrist and drags him on the bed, cuddling him. Stiles lets him and a moment of silence washes over them. 

“Are you transferring to Beacon Hills high?” Scott whispers. 

“Yes, my transfer’s been finalised. I start on Monday.” 

Silence again. Scott frankly feels like crying, so he does, feeling overwhelmed as Stiles caresses the back of his head. 

Stiles knows everything that has happened to Scott and through it all he’s sorry he wasn’t there for him. So all he can do is be there for him now. 

“I’m here now Scotty, and I won’t leave for a bloody long time.” Scott cuddles into him closer in response and they lay there in each other’s arms, just like when they were 7 years old finding safety and comfort with each other from the monsters underneath the bed. 

—

By the time Scott and Stiles have unpacked all his books onto the shelves after bonding together on the bed cuddling as Scott cries his eyes out, they hear their names called and head downstairs. They groan from the amazing smell of roast turkey with roast potatoes seasoned with thyme and stuffing that has Scott’s head spinning. 

Scott’s mum is there, dishing out the plates and cutlery as Stiles’ dad places the big delicious Turkey in the middle of the table. 

“Stiles!” Melissa McCall quickly goes in for a bone-crushing hug, muttering something about how skinny Stiles looks and how much she’s gonna feed him. Stiles hugs back, barely breathing but happy nonetheless with the welcome home. 

They sit around the table, cracking jokes about Stiles’ unchanged humongous appetite and how they heard Scott sniffing and crying from downstairs. It’s a good fucking night Stiles thinks, as he glances at Scott’s red tomato face. As soon as Scott starts mocking him for his british accent he throws that thought away with a frown, “You sound Scottish, English and Polish all at the same time.” Stiles hits him on the back of his head. 

“So Stiles, I heard you’re going to Beacon Hills High this Monday… excited?” Melissa questions with a raised brow. 

“Oh definitely! More school!” 

Melissa laughs, setting her small glass of wine down. “It’ll be fun seeing everyone again no?” Stiles lets out a long groan, which has Scott snickering at way too happily. “Sure it’ll be great to see the people who used to obsess over how  _ weak  _ I am obsess over their bad pull out game instead.” Sheriff gives him a glare and Stiles quickly returns to his food. 

Melissa ignores it, carrying on with questions. “It’s quite late into the school year already, you sure you can catch up?” 

Stiles cackles at that, “Can they catch up to  _ me  _ is the question.” Melissa raises another brow, obviously hoping for some sort of explanation. 

“Stiles did really well in his old school. One of the top students.” His dad tells her. Stiles snorts at that,  _ I am the top.  _

“Oooh I’m not surprised. Stiles has always been a smart little man”. Melissa winks at him and returns to picking at her stuffing and popping a small carrot in her mouth. 

“You are? I thought you were joking.” Stiles slaps the back of Scott’s head again in retaliation, a bit offended. 

“So this school of yours…Well , what kind of school is it? Boarding school right?” 

“Well… it’s old. Like really fucking-” The sheriff glares. “-freaking old. It’s huge and we have to wear uniforms. No phones, no internet. Surrounded by hills and woods. A lot of empty space. Surprisingly not boring. Well… most of the time. It gets so ridiculously busy during exams my head literally explodes. Oh, and strict. Once I was caught sneaking out the dorms with a few others hoping to get proper pished at the top of this hill because the sky was so fu-freaking clear and there were so many stars, and the dorm head somehow caught us which I don’t really understand how since we were  _ really  _ careful so I’m pretty sure we had a snake which still makes me angry at the thought of and we had to stay in this mingin room for the rest of night writing, and I quote: “ _ I shall not sneak out to needlessly drink and be an idiot with the other headless idiots ever again”  _ until bloody NOON. My hands and my bum were  _ bloody aching _ . When we walked into the dining hall for lunch everyone kept laughing at us, even a few professors! The disappointing professionalism was outrageous. Even the prefects and house heads kept snickering as we winced our way, if I was the bloody headmaster I would’ve taken those badges and privileges right out their bloody bum holes through their mouth-”

The sheriff coughs, stopping Stiles before he gets way too heated and can no longer even stop. There’s a moment of silence before Scott bursts out laughing, along with Melissa and soon the sheriff.

“Question… What does pished mean? Or what was it…  _ mingin?” _

Stiles sits there with a grin from ear to ear before explaining, happy he’s come home. 

—

When he awoke, Scott was flailing about in his room muttering curses and throwing clothes about. He’s in a towel, hair damp and a mess. Once he notices that one of Stiles’ eyelids is open, he grabs for one of the luggage’s zippers and flips the cover, rummaging through for a random t-shirt and jeans.

“I’m borrowing some clothes okay?!” He shouts out, moving in a hurry. Stiles puts his hands to his ears, groaning from all the noise. 

“Bloody hell.” He mutters in a British accent. “Stop flailing aboot.” He then mutters in a Scottish accent. 

“Jeez how many accents do you have?” Scott moans, the towel shielding everyone from his manhood is on the floor now, butt naked crouched on the floor making a mess of Stiles’ clothes. “Fuck do you have ANY normal clothes?” Stiles opens both eyes to this, a bit offended. 

“What do you mean, ‘normal’?” He accuses with a condescending tone. 

“I  _ mean,  _ you have NO jeans, all your t-shirts are way too big, and most of your clothes reek of posh and fashionable.” He gestures to Stiles’ silk pyjamas and pulls up some dark jeans, a smile about to form on his face when he notices. “Are these…  _ mom _ jeans? And woah is that fire at the bottom?” Stiles looks over at it. They’re the jeans he got from his friend on his 15th birthday, she’s painted it and needled her way through with cool fire patterns and a small chain clipped on the side of the pocket. He gets up, opening the other luggage, taking out a hoodie matching the colour of the jeans with the exact red fire on the rims of the sleeves and all across the bottom of the clothing. “Here, they’re a set match.” 

Scott takes it, putting a big, light blue nirvana t-shirt on with a smile. “I take it back, your clothes are like, cool.” Stiles smiles and lands face first right on his bed, remembering when he got them and acting the exact same way Scott did.

Scott grabs a brief, which Stiles snarls at. “Nuh uh! We can share the bed, clothes, even the bloody shower, but we are NOT, I repeat, NOT sharing underwear.” Scott gives him puppy eyes, puppy eyes he has not seen in a long time and he’s really about to succumb to it. “There’s a fresh pack in that little pocket.” He points, hating himself for giving in. Well, at least Scott’s not wearing something he himself has worn before. 

He closes his eyes about to drift back to sleep, when he suddenly gets up. “Wait. Where are you going?” Scott, about the zip up the hoodie, gives him an eyebrow then sighs. “Training.” 

“Training? For what? Lacrosse?” 

“Yeah.” He moves towards the door, grabbing his phone on the side. Stiles follows. 

“With who?” 

Scott looks at him with a defeated sigh, “Hale’s”. 

“Whom? With THEM? The Hales? As in, rich, conservative Hales? What, Why?” He rambles on as he follows Scott to the front door, watching him with a calculating look as he slips his shoes on. Once he’s done his laces, he stands and puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Look I’ll answer all your questions later, just… I need to go. I’ll be back.” He gives Stiles a quick hug and bolts out the door. Stiles stands there, shocked and surprised. 

_ What just happened?  _

He deeply sighs and heads for the kitchen, hungry. He makes a simple toast and some coffee to wake him up before heading upstairs to sit on his bed. He throws thoughts of Scott being a total weirdo out the window and looks around his bedroom. His room is practically the same as he remembers it. But it isn’t him anymore. There isn’t any of his artworks on the walls, any framed pictures of his friends and family, his bed duvet is literally Ben 10 and his vintage music collection is nowhere to be seen. His desk isn’t covered in scrolls and random books that have nothing to do with each other, or pots of paint messily in a crowd on the side. There are no antique figures or small china tea sets on the book shelves and his closet isn’t painted like cow skin. His dorm room back at Mierdo felt more like home than this room, than this house. And he feels a little guilty about it. So, once he’s finished with his toast, he sets them aside and begins to work. 

He ties up his curly locks into a small bun and changes into a plain black t-shirt with sleeves that reach to his elbows and sets the silk green pyjamas in his laundry basket in the bathroom. Walking inside, even his bathroom feels wrong. There are no random tiles he’s painted, the mirror isn’t adorned in stickers his friends has placed or clouds they’ve painted, the shower curtain is a plain white in contrast to the starry night of his old one and there are no eyes painted on the wall opposite the toilet to make him uncomfortable as he shits. He feels like a stranger in his own house. 

Sitting in his room are two huge luggage full of his clothes, jewellery and accessories. He’s given most of his stuff to his friends so as to not bring so much yet he’s standing in the middle of two huge luggage, two big duffel bags and one colassel case full of just books. 

He glances at the clock,  _ god even his clock is wrong _ , 10:30… okay he can do most of it in a few hours. Still a bit tired from the jet lag, he sips more of his coffee and opens the two luggage. He has a lot of clothes.  _ Ugh.  _ Placing all the clothes on the bed, he separates them in groups: Big comfortable tees, high waisted stuff, hoodies, jeans, polos, plaids, huge cardigans, merch stuff, cool jackets and even a few skirts he’s been given as a ‘joke’. Skirts are quite nice, though Stiles will never admit it. He makes sure to shove the skirts all the way in back where they won’t be found. There’s nothing wrong with a boy wearing a skirt, but the last time he wore them the wind picked up and everyone saw his bear underwear. _Never again._

He places a canvas of paintings all over his walls, each one with his signature at the side. They’re mostly paintings of the hills outside his dorm window, small ones from his school trips all the way from the south of Japan to the north of Italy. A painting his friend drew of him underneath a great Oak tree in the school gardens is placed right above his desk and a painting of a starry night with tall, grand buildings right next to the door. He has a lot of space, so he’s determined to fill it up as much as possible. 

He doesn’t realise a few hours has gone by until his phone rings. Placing his paintbrush on his ear, he wipes his other on the apron and answers without looking at the ID. 

“Hey kid. You hungry? Knowing you, you’re probably in your room painting and haven't even eaten.” Looking around, he chuckles at how true that is. 

Before adorning his desk with small cute wardrobes full of jewellery, he painted the desk completely black, took his toothbrush which he’s never going to use again, dip it in some white paint and flick stars across it. He then painted small planets of oranges and blues, and rubbed small amounts of glitter in each of them. He’s painted his closet doors in cow skin and placed his assortment of the variety of his shoes inside it too. He’s painted the clock, with small pink clouds and a deep blue sky. The bookshelves he asked his dad to build before he even started packing were filled with books from the ceiling and to the floor, he’s placed his brown vinyl player opposite the desk and on the wardrobe filled with his pots of paint, belts, hats, underwear and things he wants to keep hidden- Vinyl discs right next to it. He’s placed all his antiques across the room, the bed sheets are the ones his friend gave him of different suns and vines, and he’s blankets and sheets of coloured sigils lay across his bed or pinned against the wall behind his bed. His jars of spices and salts are either hidden away or laid on his window sill. 

He’s made a mental list of things to buy to complete his home: Green flowery plants, a gigantic mirror, frills and silk for his desk and wardrobe, small china tea sets, a new shower curtain, candles because his room doesn’t smell  _ right  _ and frames for all the new pictures he’ll be taking. 

Glancing at the clock, he’s suddenly reminded how little he’s eaten.  _ It’s 3pm.  _ He finishes up on the wardrobe, makes a mental note to start on the bathroom tomorrow, and goes into the bathroom. Putting the phone on speaker, he lifts his t-shirt off. 

“Yeah I’m bloody starving.” His stomach growls right then. 

“I can hear that,” his father laughs, “okay I have a break right now waiting for a deputy, so come down to the station with something from the local diner.”

“First, no diners. I’ll whip something up. And second, how am I getting there? You forget I haven’t been here since I was 7.” He takes his boxers off and flings them into the basket. “Take the jeep in the garage and just drive down the Main Street. You’ll see it sooner or later. Now hurry up, I’m starving” he hangs up without further ado, leaving Stiles chuckling and taking out the bun in his hair. He scans himself on the small mirror before jumping into the shower. 

He’s done in 5 minutes, walking out into the bedroom stark naked and mostly dry. He quickly dresses into a white tee tucked into blue jeans folded at the bottom (one of the only jeans he’s actually ever been comfortable in) with a black leather belt just above his hips. He pops his silver rings on that he’s left in the bathroom the day before, snakes on his right ring finger and on his left forefinger, a crown on his right thumb and ropes on his left pinky, and two normal bands on his right forefinger and on his left thumb. He doesn’t want to overdo it, as only 3 different designs of rings are way too little. His fingers are usually always drowning in silver, in patterns and gems, dragons and snakes. He pops small crystal earrings in and blow dries his hair a little to make it softer and smiles at himself in the mirror a little. 

None of the people he’s seen when they drove in dressed like this. No one wore high waisted stuff except for the girls, no one had rings all over their fingers, the boys didn’t care, from what he’s seen, over what they wear. Going to a school with people all over the world has widely influenced him. He knows if he grew up here he’ll look like the rest of them, in boring colours and weird itchy jeans, where boys having dangly earrings is girly. In a small town like this, the norm is powerful, it’s safe. Everything is black and white and everyone’s place in society has already been ingrained since they were born. Stiles isn’t complaining; he knows he won’t be bored at least. 

He goes downstairs and whips up quick sandwiches of avocado and tomato, adding small ham sandwiches for his dad. Going to the garage, he stands in his vans at the jeep. It’s blue, old and absolutely  _ perfect.  _ His dad told him that his mum’s jeep is now his on the way from the airport. He loves it. Climbing in and plopping the bag of food next to him, he pushes in keys he found near the front door, hoping one of them works. With a grin, he pulls in reverse and drives out of the garage.

—

Getting to the station and parking was a literal  _ disaster.  _ He has forgotten that Americans drive on the right and almost hit 2 cars. He genuinely thought he was going to die. He opens the station door holding the food and drinks he’s snatched from a coffee shop on the way and immediately notices everyone staring at him. Well it’s not everyday you see a teenager in jewellery, dressed loose yet fashionable and a cute face to go with it. Or probably because they’ve never seen him before. Stiles goes with the latter. 

Going up to the front desk, he plops the food and drinks on the counter. He unwraps four coffees and hands it over. The woman gives him an eyebrow raise yet accepts it and takes one for herself. 

“Oh uh-I’m Stiles.” He pops a hand out, the woman just stares at it, “Stiles Stilinski.” He finishes. The woman’s eyes widened at that, eagerly shaking his hand in shock. 

“You’re-“ she’s immediately cut off by the sheriff. 

“Don’t just stand there. Give me my goddamn food already.” Stiles chuckles and nods at the woman at the front desk, bringing the food and drinks with him. He follows his father inside, dropping off drinks where he sees fit, everyone just staring at him like he’s some kind of godsend. 

“Who is that?” One of them mutters in the middle of a call. “It’s the Sheriff’s son. Came back from abroad today.” Another answer for him. 

There’s more whispers and mutters until the door behind him in his father’s office closes, drowning out their voices. He places the food down on the desk. “It’s exactly like how I remember..” he says, glancing around the room. He looks over at his father, trying to hold down the smirk he’s about to have. “Also  _ what  _ was that? Am I ridiculously so gorgeous? Well don’t answer that I know it’s a definite yes… bloody hell is that what it feels like when your dick pictures goes around and everyone looks at you like they know something about you that you don’t?” 

The sheriff scoffs, ignoring him and immediately going for the bag of food, unfolding the sandwiches with urgency. “Firstly, don’t just ignore your favourite son and secondly, don’t ignore your only child.” he crosses his arms, sitting himself in front of him and going for the avocado and tomato sandwich. Just as he’s about to bite, the door opens behind him. 

“Stiles?” He turns and grins. “Tara!” He exclaims giving her a bone crushing hug. Everyone looking at them outside the office smiles, watching the warm reunion. 

“Oh my god you’ve grown! You’re so big!” She gasps, touching his face and running her hands down his rings. He beams and goes for another hug. Deputy Tara used to always babysit him when his parents went to go be lovey dovey in their date nights. He’s missed her a lot. They sit in front of the sheriff who’s now also eating not just the ham sandwiches, but halfway through an avocado one, not complaining in the least. 

“Tar, can you  _ please  _ tell me why everyone is staring at me like… like I’m not  _ supposed _ to be here?” Tara laughs loudly then, throwing her head back. “Why don’t you ask your overbearing father over there.” The sheriff looks at them, darting his pupils between one and the other before returning to his sandwich. “I didn’t do anything.” Tara giggles, looking over at Stiles. 

“He may, or may not have been bragging to everyone about how awesome you are for years _.”  _ Stiles groans, groans so deep and long and so  _ annoyed _ at that, he wants to slam his head against the table. “Out with it. Spill. Tara I’m ready.” He grips at the table, not wanting to have a flushed red face. 

He moans and groans and glares at his father as he sits and listens to his father’s outrageous statements. He’s won a martial arts tournament apparently? He’s in league with Olympic swimmers? He has the IQ of 240? Seriously? 

“Dad!” 

“Okay so I may have gone overboard with some-“ 

“SOME?”

“Okay okay  _ all,  _ but that just goes to show how much I love you son.” 

That’s it. He wants to die. He wants to stick his head into a bloody turkey and disintegrate. How is he supposed to live up to that? He enjoys it more when he’s more than what people expect, not the other bloody way around. “Bloody fucking bloody  _ hell-“  _ God he needs to stop saying bloody so much. He’s said it five times more than usual since stepping on American soil. 

Stiles makes it his mission to ignore his father and focus on his conversation with Tara about his life in Poland, his life going to a boarding school. They talk for a while, with Stiles mostly rambling on and Tara taking sips of coffee intently listening. Once the sheriff’s eaten and thrown the cling film in the bin, the door opens. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

“Ah no! Deputy Parrish, this is my son Stiles. Stiles, Deputy Parrish.” The deputy looks between Stiles and the sheriff, then cocks his head to the side.

“You had a son?” He questions, confused. Stiles should really feel offended by that, but knowing that someone doesn’t have any expectations of him makes him feel a lot better. He turns and stands, giving his hand out for a handshake. “Stiles Stilinski. A bit weird that a deputy doesn’t know his sheriff has a son though?” He teases. 

“I-I’m sorry I’ve only been here a few months.” He stutters, afraid even. 

“Everyone’s been talking about his return for the last week.” Tara adds, confused herself. 

“I… I thought everyone was joking. I mean everyone’s always been saying how he sounded too good to be true and to be honest I didn’t think he actually existed.” Stiles throws his head back laughing as the Sheriff stares daggers at him. The deputy’s face is going a little red and Stiles loves it. So yeah Stiles has sadistic tendencies what about it?

The sheriff stands and motions for the deputy to say… whatever he came in to say. The deputy coughs. 

“Um he just got back to me and requested you.” The sheriff stands leaves, not before thanking his son for the meal. 

“Come on Stiles, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

Tara stands and attempts to lead him to the other deputies. However, they all crowd around him instead. 

Some that he knows vaguely all come up to give him a hug and a welcome back, while others hang back and observe the exchanges. 

“Not gonna lie to ya kid, all this time I thought he was making his son and wife up.” Stiles chuckles. 

“Well I’m definitely real. But no I’ve never won a martial arts competition nor am I in league with Olympic swimmers. And my IQ isn’t that high.” 

“Thought as much. You’re definitely faking that british accent too right? ”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Stiles accuses.

He speaks to them for about half an hour, bickering here and there until everyone is busy again, answering calls or leaving to do their duties. They mostly asked him of countries he’s been to, how boarding school is like or complimenting how grown he looks for a 16 year old. 

During his talk on the horrible American school system with the woman from the front desk who he now knows as Meg, his phone rings from his pocket. 

_ “Stiles?” booms Scott’s voice from the other end.   
  
_

_ “Hey Scotty where have you disappeared to?”  _

_ “Yeah sorry I was gone longer than I thought I’d be. But hey, I’m on my way to yours right now.” _

_ “You train this long for bloody lacrosse?” _

_ “Not normally. No.” _

_ “Okay...sure.” _

_ “I got us a new cool movie to watch! Get snacks on your way?”  _

_ “What kind?”  _

_ “Moonpies!” _

_ “The fuck is a Moonpie?” _

_ “WHAT? Dude you’re missing out.” _

_ “Yes yes sure just eat whatever is there.”  _

_ “But I want-“  _

Stiles hung up.

  
  
  


—

When Stiles pulls up at the house, he doesn’t spot any kind of vehicle.  _ Did Scott run to and back from the Hales?  _ Opening the front door, which is open, he walks up into his room and bangs it open a little too forcefully. 

“Scott-“

“Woah your room is like, AMAZING! You did all this in the time I was gone?  _ Dude _ did you paint the desk? Cause it looks fucking cool. Like REALLY cool. It feels like you’ve been in here for years. Oh and did you also paint those? Cause that painting of you is seriously sick-“ 

“SCOTT! Shut up!” He shuts up, “Are you throwing me praises so that I don’t ask you questions you don’t want to answer?” Scott looks away at that, fiddling with Stiles’ hoodie on him. 

Stiles sighs, running his hand through his hair. He sits himself and Scott down and looks at him with a soft expression. “Look, You don’t have to tell me anything you don't want to. Just know I’m here for you okay?” 

Scott nods and smiles, then he wraps his arms around Stiles again. “I’m so glad you’re here dude. Seriously.” 

“Yes me too  _ dude.”  _ He mocks in an American accent. 

“Seriously dude your room is sick-” Stiles slaps him.

They spend the rest of the night bunched up next to each other on Stiles’ queen bed, watching movies and criminal minds on his laptop. They snack too, with Stiles threatening Scott that if he leaves any crumbs he’ll cut him up in pieces and feed him to the mountain lions. Scott laughed but abruptly stopped when Stiles stared at him with an intimidating expression. Scott spent the rest of the night eating crisps over a bag. 

“Scott you’re not eating your crisps into the bag.” 

“Oh sorry- wait what? Crisps?” 

“Yes or you’re going to eat over the rubbish bin.” 

“Rubbish?” 

“Can you stop repeating everything I say?” 

“Sorry you’re just so… British.” Stiles definitely slapped him across the head again. 

__

After kicking Scott out of his house and asking Melissa to tell the boy to  _ go home,  _ he finally left the house and headed to another town for an IKEA, on the journey to buy the biggest mirror that’ll fit his room. After settling at one taller than him and twice as wide, with gold patterns on the side, he knows painted clouds would look amazing on it. Then he spots cute shower curtains and just dumps in all the ones he likes. 

Once he’s left many eons later, he’s asked an IKEA employee to help him carry everything because if he does it by himself it’ll be… a bit too suspicious. He smiles as his jeep is filled with all sorts of green plants, some tall and gangly while others short and colourful. Frills and silk for his desk and wardrobe that took him centuries to pick, new pretty shower curtains, candles that smell of sea and pinewood and frames about the size of both his hands next to each other (Which is fairly big).

He’s not really excited for school the next day, as from what he’s read online American high school is a place with cliche cliques and horrible education. If his dad or Scott didn’t have a place here he wouldn’t have ever come back, because then there’ll be nothing for him to come back to. He probably would be in Lex’s room right now with everyone else, doing something stupid like smoking weed or trying to throw and get Wotsits in each other’s mouth. God he misses them. 

As he slows down in front of his house, he ponders if coming back here was the right decision. He looks up at the house, a place he once called home… Will he ever call it home again? For the longest time, the school and Poland was his home. He didn’t even think he'd ever come back here. His thoughts all wash away as he spots his dad leave the house and walk over to him. 

What is he thinking? His dad is here. Scott is here. Right now,  _ this  _ is home. However... Poland has Babcia. It has his mother’s grave. Sunny’s grave. His old school has his friends too, professors he’s grown with, teachers who know exactly how to push him to do his best. A public school in a small town like this can’t. Mierdo gave him privileges no other school can, gave him the competition he wanted, the friends he needed and the space for his growth. He’s learnt so much and there is still much to learn. 

“Woah that’s a lot of stuff there kid.” He hears his father’s words, opening the back and already taking stuff out. Stiles turns off the jeep and slides off, staring at his father. He can see the bags underneath his eyes, how skinnier he is, how  _ tired  _ he looks. Standing there and watching his dad look so old and unkempt, he is reminded why he came home. To look after his father. His mother’s death impacted them both severely, but while Stiles had his grandma and friends to be there for him (also because he can’t exactly grieve properly), his father had no one. His father started drinking. He realised then that he needs to be with his father, to grieve together as a family. 

Stiles smiles, giving his father a hug as the man unloads the jeep. “Awe thanks dad. You love me so much.” 

“No I don’t.” He mutters, placing the plant pots on the ground. 

__

Stiles is in a disaster. He’s only ever seen American high schools in movies and they all basically have the same storyline. Nerdy, bullied kid becomes popular and has a weird walk in the hallways to instigate that. He’s never been popular, even back in Mierdo. He hasn’t been freaking out before, but now he kind of is. He can’t stop practicing an American accent in front of his mirror and saying things like “Oh no! My Twinkie!” Or in a high pitched girl American voice, “like what is wrong with her? Such a bitch right? Like I’M the baddest bitch like,” he flips his nonexistent long hair, “wHAT is wrong with her?” And making fun of how many times Americans say the word “like”. Well, he can’t say anything, he says bloody every other second who’s he to judge? 

He sighs, finally settling on a black tee with Japanese writing at the front and a red dragon on the back, a plain black hoodie that kind of smells like his friend Elijah, and jeans that are a little too tight for him around the thighs. Well, scratch that. He throws the tight jeans across the room and settles in one that’s blue and ripped around the knees and thighs. He makes a mental note to throw the other jeans out as it made his dick pop out like a tent. 

His rings are boring today, just a snake around his right thumb and bland bands randomly around the rest. He doesn’t want to stand out too much until he finds out Scott’s place in the high school hierarchy. Who knows, if he dressed like how he did when he and his friends went into the city, what kind of chain reaction can negatively affect Scott? 

Scott has spoken about the school and bullies. But every time he’s asked about how things are now Scott avoids it like the plague. Something’s happened. A change. And he’s going to exactly find out what. 

He doesn’t wear any earrings, even if wearing none makes him feel a little naked. Instead he places a rose quartz crystal around his neck, hiding it underneath his shirt. 

Driving up at the front of Scott’s house, he spots Scott standing at the front. He drops his arm out and calls as he slows to a stop. “Get in loser we’re going shopping!” 

“Was that a mean girls reference?” He mentions, sliding into the jeep next to him. 

“Didn’t you know that pointing out the reference makes the power of the reference,” he makes jazz hands and waves it a little, “ _ disappear?”  _

Scott scoffs before sniffing, “You smell weird.” 

Stiles looks over as he drives, “Probably the hoodie. It was my friend’s.” 

Scott leans in and sniffs the hoodie, “Seriously Scott what's with the sniffing? Don’t tell me you’ll be doing that shit in the school as well.” He looks down at the map of Beacon Hills before turning a left. 

“He kind of smells like Deaton.” 

“What the fuck is a Deaton?” Stiles questions. 

“He’s my boss at the vet clinic I work at.” He leans back against the seat, taking the map from Stiles’ lap and gesturing for him the way instead. 

“Okay that makes me irk in a way I definitely do not like. I’m washing this hoodie as soon as I get home.” Stiles looks over his friend, “So… vet clinic?” 

“Yeah, I told you I love animals.” 

“And they’re not scared of you?” 

Scott looks at him with a confused expression. “No. Actually at the start of the school year they were for a while but now it’s okay. Why?”

“That’s good. I was afraid they’ll be all scared by how  _ ridiculously _ handsome you are.” He says, booping Scott’s nose. Scott laughs, swatting his hand away as Stiles turns left. And woah.

It is exactly like the American high school movies he’s seen. The yellow buses. The designer cars in contrast to the scraps of bicycles in the corner. The bell  _ ringing  _ as he pulls up. How cliche is this? 

As they pull into a parking space and get out, Stiles can see a few curious gazes from the side. He ignores it, throwing his bag over and walking with Scott towards the building. The curious gazes linger throughout the halls too, as Scott leads him to the School office. 

“Okay dude I have to go. Maths first and if I don’t hurry I'll be killed. See you at break.” Stiles doesn’t get a reply as Scott runs away already at the end of the hall, unusually really fast.  _ Huh.  _

Stiles awkwardly stands there before realising there are actual chairs he can sit on. However as soon as he sits he hears “New student?” called and he stands again. God how awkward does he look right now. 

“Mr…” the woman looks down the clipboard, eyebrow raising, “I didn’t know you were an exchange student?” 

“I’m not. I was born here.” 

She scoffs, “You sure don’t sound like it.” 

Stiles smiles but inside he wants to take that tongue out and twist it off. “You don’t sound like a teacher either.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m just saying…” he lets the word trail off to make more impact. The woman is wearing a short dress that shows off some bloody cleavage, and a voice so high and squeaky it makes him scratch his skin. 

“You’ve been in this school for 1 minute you immigrant!” Did she not hear the fact that he was born here? “And you’re already disrespecting a fellow staff member?” 

“I’m not an immigrant.” He says flatly. “And why are you using that word as an insult? What’s wrong with one?” 

“All you immigrants are stealing our jobs!” 

Stiles looks at her with an expression between wanting to laugh and  _ what-the-fuck?  _ He’s been here for 5 minutes and he’s been insulted, accused of being an immigrant, and declared immigrants are stealing everyone’s jobs. He sees a man walking down towards them from behind her, confusion wretched all over his face. 

“What on earth is going on here?” She immediately stills at the voice.  _ Must be high standing.  _

“Sir this transfer student has been disrespecting me.” 

He looks over at Stiles, “Is this true?” 

“Hey I’m not the one conscendingly calling people immigrants.” He puts his arms up in surrender. 

The headmaster- or rather Principal- turns over to the woman and sighs. She opens her mouth, about to whine in protest, and he puts a finger up to shush her. “Miss Rotica I have told you time and time again. And now at a new student? This will be the last time we talk. Please head to my office and wait.” 

Some part of Stiles is bewildered at how disorganised the staff is that a teacher needs to be told multiple times to be a decent human being at students especially and another part of him is happy to be in the centre of her about to be possibly fired.  _ The cheeky bitch _ . 

As she turns with a red face, embarrassed out of her mind, he can’t help and put a last word in. “Most immigrants in this country actually have jobs that you privileged don’t even want to do!” He watches as the headmaster looks at him with an eyebrow raised. Stiles awkwardly coughs, “okay I’ll uhh, I’ll shut up now. Yes, shutting up.” He exaggeratedly zips his mouth with a finger. 

He looks at the clipboard that the cheeky bitch- Miss Rotica handed to him. “Mr Stilinski? This way please.” He gestures for him and they walk together to a room right next to his labelled “Meeting room”. 

They sit and the headmaster opens up his files. 

“Hello Mr Stilinski.”

“Stiles please.” Stiles is pretty sure he keeps calling him that because he has no idea how to pronounce his first name. He’s okay with it though, at least this person is actually polite. 

“I’m the Principal. I personally apologise for that earlier.”

“Don’t be. It was quite entertaining.” The headmaster looks at him and sighs. 

“Is this going to be a problem?”

“What is?”

“The fact that you find a spectacle like that entertaining rather than annoying?” Stiles looks to the side and scratches his head. 

“Um… no?” 

He sighs again, can already tell what kind of student the young man is, and looks down the file. 

“I spoke to Sheriff Stilinski last week already. I’m just here to remind you of what we expect here from you at Beacon Hills high.” He leans back and closes the file, “It does not matter where you are from, your circumstances, here at this school everyone is equal.”

“Tell that to Miss Immigrants-stole-our-jobs!”

“AND, we do not tolerate any talk back. It may have been okay at your old school, but here it does not work like that.” 

“We get smacked if we do that. I don’t think they tolerated anything”. 

“Are you suggesting we do the same?” 

“Having a conversation isn’t me talking back though.”

“Enough!”  _ I take it back. He’s just as bad as that cheeky bitch.  _

“You will not slack back even if you’re months behind and you will try your hardest like everyone else okay?” He stands and Stiles kind of wants to fling him against the wall. 

“Okay.” He mutters, following him out. He tunes the headmaster bickering about rules and codes on clothes and knocks on a classroom door. They both walk in, and Stiles just stares at the classroom. 

It looks like how the american classes in movies did. Classrooms in Mierdo were decorated all over by how the professors like it, some classes with desks that line from one wall to the other, some in a circle as they teach in the middle, and some with just pillows on the floor. Some Classes ran for hours or just one. He was quite shocked at how little people would be in class and how long the summer holidays were for teenage Americans. 

He’s very underwhelmed. The classroom walls are painted a dull colour and the desks look manky and shabby. The students look tired and uninterested.  _ What a great teaching environment.  _

“This is Stiles Stilinski. He has come back from boarding school in England,”  _ Scotland ya bloody mug, “ _ I trust you all will be welcoming.” He then leaves after nodding at the teacher. 

“Welcome Stiles! I’m your English teacher Miss Ramsey. Why don’t you choose a seat and get settled.” 

There are murmurs around the classroom, but they quickly go away as the teacher gets their attention and teaches. He’s quite impressed, the class is quiet and the teacher is thorough. He tunes in and out every now and then but completely tunes out when he realises the teacher is reading a paragraph from Othello. 

The rest of the day is pretty normal, at first people came and spoke to him but stopped after seeing him hang around Scott.  _ Damn Scott how low are you in the society of highschool?  _ It doesn’t really bother him though.

He sees it firsthand. The bullying. As he’s about to meet up with Scott at lunch, he sees him slammed against a locker by this tall blondie with others behind him. He speaks close and harsh, right at Scott’s face, before leaving with his minions.  _ Seriously, how cliche is this school? _

He quickly comes over, making sure Scott is okay. 

“What did he want?”

“He said he’ll find out what I’m hiding.” Stiles raises his eyebrows at that. 

“What you’re hiding?”

“He thinks I’m taking some sort of drug for Lacrosse.” 

“What? Why?” 

Scott huffs and walks, Stiles closely walking from behind. 

“I’ve been taking the spotlight from him lately because I got a lot better and he’s just pissed.” he’s very annoyed, Stiles notices. 

“U-huh.” Stiles looks at him a few moments before wrapping his arm around his best friend.

“Let’s go eat. I’m starving”.

__

School was a lot more eventful than he’d imagined, but hey, he’s not complaining. They ate their lunch away from the school and on the grass, laughing and throwing gummy worms at each other. The school is completely different from Mierdo. Well for one, it’s smaller, and there’s a very small amount of subjects to choose. Most just underneath the umbrella term. Everyone in Mierdo had magic lessons along with their affinity, but other than that there was a wide range of subjects to choose from. From martial arts to literature, from mythology to calligraphy. And somehow there was a teacher that can teach for each one. 

Here there’s no creativity, no trust. Everyone mostly has the same projects and the teacher pairs them up as they don’t trust they’ll work properly if they choose their own partners. They even have to ask to go to the bathroom! It’s like they’re teaching 6 year olds who still have trouble potty training. It’s a bit ridiculous to be honest. And the amount of written homework people get from listening to Scott. It’s utterly ridiculous. It’s crazy how pupils in Mierdo got in trouble for mostly weird shit like levitating classrooms and flooding the bathrooms compared to homework turned in late or fights. Probably because you can have spars, as long as both consent and a professor is present. So essentially, you can fight with permission. 

The more he learns of the outside world and how other schools operate the more he learns how fucking weird Mierdo is. But weird in a good way. He misses it even more. 

As the week passes by, Stiles has a purely average week. Those bullies have been constantly harassing Scott and him to the point Scott started avoiding him so that Stiles doesn’t get bullied. It’s the exact same scenario he’s read in a fanfiction and he laughed so hard at how cliche it is. Plus, he’s pretty sure he can easily slam Jackson’s face into the floor. 

He doesn't think Scott notices, but everytime Stiles is slammed against the lockers just for hanging out with Scott, Scott clenches his fists so hard they turn white. And he knows he needs to quickly dissipate the situation. So Stiles will say something witty and sarcastic, Jacson will hit him and him and his minions walk away. Once, Stiles had to physically hold Scott back from hitting the boy.

From research over the week, basically a deep dig into their social media, their family’s socials and watching them like a hawk, he is sure of a few things. One, Jackson used to be Scott’s best friend. Second, he is adopted. Third, he has a weird complex with Scott. Fourth, he is intimidated by him, that’s why he always attacks first before Scott even notices. Fifth, he is probably jealous of Stiles. As Stiles writes these down, he can’t stop chuckling at how ridiculous this all is. The boy probably loves Scott a lot deep down and something happened. _ God he’s so dramatic.  _

Not to mention Lydia Martin. She’s pretending to be dumb. Who pretends to be dumb? Lydia apparently. She can read  _ Latin  _ and no one knows. How ridiculous is that? Well Stiles and the majority of Mierdo can but this is a normal human girl in a small town. She’s really fucking smart and she isn’t doing  _ anything  _ about it. It honestly frustrates him. Imagine if she went to Mierdo, they would’ve competed for top student of the year. He loves a good rivalry and unless she stops acting like Jackson’s fucking accessory, she isn’t anyone but a pretty face. 

Then there’s Allison Argent. Scott’s crush and recently joined Lydia’s clique though she isn’t part of the agenda: she isn’t a bitch. He spoke to her a few times in History and Maths and she’s genuinely such a nice person he was so surprised. She’s pretty too. He can see why Scotty likes her. He’s too much of a coward to ask her out though. When asking Allison what she thought of Scott, her response was, “Who?” So that’s great. One of Stiles’ goals is to definitely get Scott to ask her out. He is VERY determined. 

There is something else about her though. Something he can’t pin down and frankly Stiles has gone through enough experiences to know to trust his gut so he keeps an eye out for her. 

There’s Danny, a nice boy who’s apparently Jackson’s best friend. He’s the one who stops the others from going too far with the harassments but too pussy to even stop them in the first place. Apparently Jackson’s the mighty alpha in their eyes. 

Then there’s the Hales. Cora Hale, youngest Hale of the main family. And Malia, adopted and her cousin. No one really messes with them and they have a big friend group. A quick dig around Cora’s socials and she sure is active and her house- mansion- behind her in pictures isn’t unnoticed to others. He spots a big family picture from 6 years ago, titled “tbt” and damn that is one huge family. He doesn’t really recognise most of them until his eyes lands on him. Derek Hale. He’s grown into his face more. He’s… as pretty as he remembers. Even more so. He hasn’t even realised his heart has started pumping at the foggy memories that start come rushing back so vividly as he sat in his room meditating one Thursday afternoon. The fog clears and he remembers each one like yesterday. He chuckles. 

At their first meeting Stiles was 5 and Derek 9. He’s come to the park with his mum and Melissa with Scott to play in the sandbox. As he chases the small ball that’s rolling away, he bumps into an older boy. He watches with wide eyes as Derek turns, holding a screaming Cora in his arms. He looks down with confusion, about to ask the young boy where his parents are, when Stiles speaks. 

“Wow… so pretty.” He remembers Derek blushing furiously at that. He stretches his arms, wanting Derek to carry him. Derek lets go of Cora and she beams, running off without a care in the world. He lifts Stiles up, Stiles immediately looking into his eyes. He puts his small hands on Derek’s cheeks, looking into his eyes. “You, so so pretty!” He exclaims, hugging into him. He remembers his mother coming over and saying sorry to the boy and carrying Stiles away. Stiles remembers Derek’s red ears. 

The next time he sees him he refuses to leave Derek. He followed him around, wanting Derek to carry him and eat snacks with him. Derek complies, not an utter complaint. Their mothers watched the boys with a smile, Derek giving him piggy back rides when he wanted to and to place him on his shoulders. 

The third time he’s with Scott, he still remembers Derek’s red cheeks when he says, “He’s the pretty boy I said!” He shouted pointing at Derek. The three played together all day, with Scott calling Derek “Stises’ pwetty!” As ‘Derek’ is too hard for him to say. 

Then many times after that, with Scott or not, Stiles follows Derek everywhere. Stiles always felt happy when Scott called Derek “Stises’ pwetty” that he started calling Derek “mine”. Whenever other kids will pull Derek’s t-shirt to push them on the swings, he’ll grab Derek’s side and hug him tight shouting, “Mine! Mine! Mine!! My dweweek!” It’s an understatement to say he grew attached to him. But Derek would just grin, ruffle his hair, say he’ll be back and goes to push the child. And Stiles will sit there and sob to himself, thinking every time that Derek doesn’t like him anymore. And Derek will come back saying he does, over and over, telling Stiles that helping people is important. Stiles didn’t care, he just wanted Derek for himself. 

He even started getting possessive of him around Scott. It’s a norm for all three to play together on the grass, throw balls and try to catch frisbees. But Stiles didn’t want that, he just wanted Derek to only be with him. He got better at sharing when Sunny came, but it didn’t stop wanting Derek for himself. 

He asked his parents how two people can be together all the time, so when his mother replied with, “One way is marriage.” 

“Marriage?”

“Yes. When two people in love marry. They’re together forever.” 

And that’s it. Stiles thought he’s definitely cracked the code. If he’s married to Derek, he’ll be with Derek forever. 

So after buying a candy ring from the shops, (his mum says real rings like the ones on TV isn’t enough with all his allowance), he bows clumsily in front of Derek -who was licking an ice cream on the bench- just like in the movies and asks if Derek can marry him. 

Derek and his mother stared at him wide eyed, most people in the park actually. “Marry?” Derek questions, his face red to his ears. 

“Mummy says if I marry you, I can be with you forever!” Derek’s mum -Auntie Talia- laughs, clapping her hands and smiling at Stiles. 

“B-but we can’t.” Derek argues. 

“Why not? You don’t want to be with me forever?” 

“N-no it’s just… you have to love them to marry.” Stiles cocks his head, standing up, clearly upset. 

“Y-you don't love me? B-but I l-love you! So so much!” Stiles is sobbing, rubbing his cute little hands on his eyes. The park coos, coming over to calm down the sobbing boy. 

“I-I do! I… I love you too Stiles.” The 11 year old’s face is so bright red he has to cover it with his hands. His mum elbows him, eyebrows dancing on her face. 

Stiles beams at that, grinning from ear to ear and grabbing Derek’s hand. He slips the ring over two fingers and throws himself onto Derek. “We’re going to be together forever now!” Derek, embarrassed, hugs back and smiles a little to himself. 

Stiles gets off Derek’s lap and grabs his hand, standing in front of Talia Hale. With hands on his waist, Stiles tells her the facts. “Pretty Derek is mine now. Can I bring him home?” Stiles’ asks. The mother grabs onto her mouth cackling, nodding her head. “You have my blessing Stiles.” Derek frowns at his mother, but gets dragged by Stiles who's already running down the pavement. 

Stiles’ mother stands there, shocked with a mixture of pride before following them into the direction of her house. Stiles’ mother feeds the two, and Derek reads to Stiles into the night, sleeping peacefully next to each other. 

That was the last time he ever saw Derek. His mother told him that Derek was sick and to ensure he doesn’t pass it onto Stiles he can’t come play with him right now. It was a regular thing but it was longer than normal, so Stiles was very worried. He came over with his favourite blanket that soothed him when he was sick, handing it to Auntie Talia and shouting, “Get well Derry!” into the house before leaving. 

In a few days, Sunny was dead. 

Stiles’ shivers at the memory, remembering everything. He shoves the thoughts away. With a deep sigh, he wipes the sweat on his forehead and takes his tee off. Northern California is way warmer than Scotland, that much is facts, yet actually being here makes him want to walk about naked. 

He wonders if Derek remembers him. He wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t, it was 9 years ago, but it’ll be nice if he did. 

__

He’s about to have a meltdown. Did he hear what he thinks he just did? 

“Wait what? Repeat it. I think my ears are playing tricks on me.” 

“You, me, mum and Noah. Dinner. Tonight. Hales.” He deadpans, again, as he fishes through Stiles’ closet for a tee. 

It’s a fresh Saturday morning and Scott spent the night after they stayed up making fun of pornos. Scott had to go to the bathroom a few times which is something Stiles will hold against him for a long time. 

“What? Why?” Stiles sits up, panic running through his eyes. 

“Why, you don’t want to?” He teases, pulling a random top over his head and hoodie, heading downstairs. 

“No I didn’t say that… but  _ why? _ ” Scott puts his shoes on, tying his laces. 

“Look if you don’t want to, then don’t come.” He shoves his phone into his pocket and bolts out the door. _ Déjà vu much.  _

Standing there bewildered, he walks up to his dad’s bedroom and opens the door. “I’ve been told we’re going to the Hale’s for dinner and no one is telling me why.” 

“Ha don’t look at me. Melissa invited me. And I’m not turning away free dinner.” Stiles snarls at his dad and scoffs. “If that’s your way of telling me to get dessert on the way to be polite, keep dreaming.” He turns, ignoring his dad's pout and closing the door. 

He figures instead of spamming Scott with messages he should just wait it out. His questions will be answered tonight. Sitting on the couch, he sighs and hits the coffee table with his forehead. He’s going to the Hales. Tonight. For dinner. Does Derek Hale even remember him? Because he does. Stiles remembers everything, he bloody  _ proposed.  _ Wait! He was a child! As long as he talks of it like some fond memory it shouldn’t be too embarrassing. Plus he really wants to know if Derek remembers... Is he still really fucking pretty? Is his personality still pretty?  _ Ugh _

With a final deep, chesty sigh, he pulls out of the spot on the coach and goes to work on martial arts in the garden.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter Derek and Stiles finally meet after 9 years! What are they going to think of each other? Oh and yes Elijah from The Originals I just LOVE that name, the way it rolls of the tongue is just... KISS KISS.


	3. Derry Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek’s view of the dinner. 
> 
> Questions are asked and questions are replied. 
> 
> Stiles meets the Hale family for the first time and fits into it way better than anyone thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!SLIGHT HOMOPHOBIA!!!
> 
> Yes I’m sorry it took a few days for this chapter. I wrote a few thousand and decided to restart all over again. After rereading and drafting many times this chapter now has 16K+ words alone. God omg how many words will this have in total when it’s finished? I’m scared of myself.

**_Morning after Stiles’ return._ **

One of Derek’s biggest pet peeves in life is tardiness. On top of that, the person with disregard to any punctuality is also the self-righteous little shit with no backbone to back it up. In simpler terms, he is very very annoyed. He might just punch a few holes in the wall next.

As the person responsible for ruining one of the few good days he never really has comes charging through the door swimming in someone else’ scent, he is nothing but furious. The cub spent the night playing around knowing how vulnerable he is with control? Another pet peeve, irresponsibility. God. He’s pretty sure Scott’s number one goal in life is to infuriate him. 

“I-I’m so sorry I’m late. It slipped off my mind. You see-”

“Save it. Gloves. Sparring with me. Hurry up.” He deadpans, knowing if he hears any excuses he’ll do more than punch a wall. 

Glaring at the others to get back to their doings, Isaac shifts back to human and seats himself on the bench catching his breath. Erica and Boyd in partial shifts return to slashing and clawing their way at each other, flashing their fangs every now and then. 

Scott’s training compared to the other cubs is… slow. Inconsistent. Though he no longer claws at anyone close to him, they still seep out during a rise in his emotions. He wonders if Scott clawed out the night before due to the high emotions. Well he knows Scott didn’t do anything sexual but the fact that Scott is all of a sudden better at controlling his strength, speed and emotions tells him something has happened since the last time they saw each other. 

As Scott punches with a right straight, his left goes for the belly and slashes just below Derek’s abdomen. _Yes something definitely happened._ It’s a huge difference to the animal-like instinctively acts from before, especially since he’s managed to actually scratch him this time. Derek counters with grabbing him on the elbows, claws digging into his skin and rapidly bringing his knee into contact with Scott's stomach. He gasps, tripping himself backwards and groans in pain. 

“Don’t be late again.” They finish the spar with Scott grinning ear to ear with himself and Derek giving him a weird look. He knows Scott is probably having a party inside his head over two measly scratches and he gives him his congratulations, proud. Well not out loud of course, he’s still pissed. 

“Woah what happened to you.” Erica comments, gulping her water bottle in three huge gulps. 

“I… I’m just really happy.” Scott mutters, flapping his tee to air his chest. 

“That doesn’t have anything to do with someone else’s scent you’re carrying is it?” She teases, sitting herself down next to Isaac. 

“The scent’s on the clothes Erica, not on him. I really doubt something happened.” Isaac comments with a smirk, sipping his water. “It’s Scott.” Derek silently agrees. 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Scott frowns, tilting his jaw to the side to poorly intimidate. 

“Knock it off.” Derek orders with a stern voice, “5 more minutes break and we’ll have 5-point spars.” 

  
  


Leading the chattering group out the front door after a few hours, Derek must admit, he is impressed with Scott. He’s calmer, He can switch from full shifts quicker than his norm (which is agonisingly slow) and he can stop himself from partial shifting easily. Derek definitely needs to know exactly what happened in the time he hasn’t seen him. 

“Those clothes…” Cora questions, about to walk past them with a bowl of cereal in her hands. She stares at Scott, pupils slowly moving up and down, judging. 

Scott immediately perks up at that. “Oh they’re my best friend’s! Cool right?!” He stretches his arms, turning around to show the cool fire patterns on the back of the hoodie like a little child showing off his new toy.

Cora snorts. “I was about to say. Would’ve been weird if they are _your_ clothes.” Scott glares at her a little, before she giggles and leaves towards the stairs. 

Isaac snickers from the corner in response, “She’s right ya know.” Erica joins him, covering their mouths and whispering to each other with words that don’t make sense at all. Guess even with werewolf hearing you can still whisper and manage to insult without forming any proper words. Derek doesn’t really understand the mockery behind it but Scott seems to. 

“Oh ha ha so funny.” Scott rolls his eyes as he walks towards the door, chattering with Isaac. Derek opens his mouth to call out when his mother beats him to it. 

Talia walks towards the cub from the confinement of her office, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Scott, I need to talk to you about something. Come to my office, Derek you too.” Scott looks over at Derek worriedly, the blank expression on the older boy gives him nothing and so he decides to follow without a word. “Have a safe journey home pups.” Talia tells the trio with a slight nod, walking off with Scott. Derek waves them goodbye before following the two closely behind very confused. 

Talia’s office is always warm. With a furnace she never really uses on the wall on their right, two gold vintage sofas next to each other facing it, a small coffee table inbetween with a bottle of bourbon (probably laced with some wolfsbane) on it. On their left a wide bookshelf that stretches from one side to the other, his mother’s oak desk in the centre. A humongous family portrait sits behind her, a picture they took 15 years ago before Talia’s father died. Derek is on his mother’s lap, Laura standing beside her. There are numerous piles of paper on her desk, her signature pen lay flat and not in its case, signifying she was in a hurry. 

“Please, sit.” She gestured to the sofas in front of her desk, seating herself down in the powerful gold, almost throne-like chair. “The room is…” Scott trails off, his mouth hanging open. Derek feels a small pride creeping up for his mother, but quickly pushes it down as she stares at them with an eyebrow raised. 

Once seated she doesn’t wait for a beat. “I spoke with your mother last week,” Scott opens his mouth but she continues, “Let me speak young pup.” She crosses her fingers together and lays them in front of her. “I informed her around when you just got the bite that if anything major happened in your life, bad or good, that she contacted me immediately. And she did. She told me the return of the Sheriff’s son,” Derek watches his mother, even more confused about the whole ordeal and why he needs to be here when it’s obviously a private matter, “Your best friend returned yesterday. Now, normally one of us will be there to make sure you don’t give anything away, however, I apologise as we had other urgent matters to attend to. So please, in order for us to help you, you need to tell me exactly what happened from seeing him to this point. _Everything_ Scott. The excitement from seeing a person you love in 9 years would’ve been enough to make _me_ shift. So please be completely honest. We will not be angry okay?” 

Derek has no idea all this happened. And he’s Scott’s trainer… _what the hell?_

Scott slowly nods and begins to tell how he remembers the previous night. From bursting into his room and smelling Stiles, from cuddling in the bed crying which made him cover his face in embarrassment, to Stiles’ rant on the dinner table and to this morning of him shuffling through Stiles’ luggage. 

“Are you sure that’s everything? Your eyes didn’t flash or glow?” Scott shakes his head. 

“Stiles would’ve definitely pointed it out and made jokes about it. He only reacted to me sniffing a lot and that’s it. I… I almost shifted when I hugged him but he didn’t see! My face was into his chest.” 

“And nothing weird? No weird questions?” 

“Other than the confusion from when I told him I train at the Hale’s for lacrosse, nope. In his eyes, he thinks I’ve become a dog or something. Which I’m pretty sure he just accepted because I’m weird. I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.” Scott awkwardly laughs out. 

“Okay… that is very good Scott. Tell me if anything happens okay?” She pats his head, “I need to talk to Derek.” She informs him nicely, giving the boy one last smile before he leaves. 

Looking towards the confusion on her son’s face, she moves the chair next to the 20 year old and sits herself with a thud. “You have questions.” 

“Something tells me we’re not going to forbid him from seeing the sheriff’s son.” He states, giving his mum a slight side eye. 

“Why don’t you tell me about Scott’s progress.” She says in a soft voice, leaning back.

“Well, there was really slow progress. A process nonetheless. Until today. He’s suddenly better. Quick, adaptive and calm. He can willingly keep partial shifts longer and his full shifting time has shortened immensely.” Derek tells his mother in disbelief. It’s only been a few days since their last meet, how has the boy changed so much? 

“Exactly. How calm was he today? The fact that he stopped a shift from happening? Melissa told me this morning that Scott slept completely in human form last night. No claws or fangs. That’s a big jump Derek. And it’s all because of Stiles.” 

Derek looks at his mother, suspicions rising evident on his face. “And you’re saying…?”

“Stiles is Scott’s anchor. Scott is pack Derek, and we must do everything to help him.” Derek does not like where this is going. “And as his trainer, I needed to tell you first. I’m to meet Melissa later to speak on the possibility of letting Stiles know what exactly kind of training he does at the Hale’s.” 

Derek is shocked. He can not believe what his ears are hearing. What did his mother just say? “What? How can we be sure that Stiles definitely didn’t see anything? What if Stiles is dangerous? _”_ He whispers that last word in disbelief and urgency, like if he says it quick enough it won’t be a possibility. “Mother you can’t be serious.” 

“I am. Very. And I also understand that the family will not like this either. But I think it is something that needs to be done.” Derek can’t breathe. Is he such a bad trainer that they have to resort to this? 

His mother immediately crouches in front of him worried. She takes his face into her hands and soothes him, telling him to breathe. “We won’t tell him right away Derek. It is still only a possibility. I will meet with Melissa and return with news later.” She says in a soft voice, almost whispering, “It is okay Derek. We are on high alert. Anything that will hinder the safety of our pack will be taken care of. Even Stiles. I promise.” Derek’s heartbeat slows a little at that, letting himself be embraced by his mother and whisper good things to him. 

When he’s left the office, he stares off into space in utter shock. He needs to work better. Get Scott better and better. Then maybe his mother doesn’t have to resort to such things. Damn, his day keeps getting worse and worse. 

__

He shouldn’t have talked so soon. God, it’s jinx 101. He’s jinxed it. His day has gotten terribly _worse._ After his mother’s return to the mansion, she quickly gathered the most of the Hale pack’s immediate family in the living area, including Uncle Peter and his two daughters Esme and Malia, his Uncle Donovan and his two sons Xavier, Colton. Even Granny Irma is here. She sits in front of everyone with a plastered business face she only ever makes at her job or when she’s about to scold one of them to the death. 

“I wanted to be honest with everyone as there would be a few changes. Donovan and Peter already know of this so please cubs, sit and listen until I finish.” She clears her throat, “After meeting one of my clients, I went to speak to Scott’s mother about Stiles, Scott’s best friend and the Sheriff’s son.” She starts, “Stiles left Beacon Hills at a young age and returned yesterday. Scott has been having… much difficulties with his new life. Nicholas and I have been worried for the cub in actuality. Very worried to the point dire things might have occurred and the only way to prevent them is to keep Scott locked in the basement.” She says the last with a cold bitter tone, making Cora, the youngest of the bunch, flinch.

“Of course we must try everything we can before resorting to that. It is a last, desperate choice. Now upon meeting Scott’s mother, Melissa enlightened me on Scott’s and Stiles’ friendship. Firstly, she and I both agree that Stiles will find out one way or another. Not necessarily a werewolf, but he _will_ notice things. They are close. And as Melissa describes, Stiles does not stop until he finds out what he wants to find out. Secondly, their friendship is extremely important and powerful to the pup. Scott can almost perfectly control himself around the boy.” This statement earns some curious gazes, “Melissa tells me Scott did not once lose himself to anger, shifted, or showed claws and fangs during his sleep last night. Stiles makes him feel safe and rooted. He is Scott’s anchor. This is good for both Scott and us. We do not have to lock him in the basement and decide his fate and we gain a powerful ally. Now, if everything goes well, I’d like Stiles to know about us.”

That earns some protest from Cora. “What? We barely know the guy! He’s been gone from Beacon Hills most of his life. How are we supposed to trust him?” 

“That is why, until the next full moon, we will spend time with Stiles and his father. They are coming for dinner next week. Remember it is not just us and the cubs we have to worry about, but Scott too.” 

Cora throws her hands up, shocked beyond relief. “However, if we ALL deem that he can not be told such a secret, we will not tell. Even if all vote for and one against, we will not tell. Everyone’s vote is important.” Cora groans, pointing at Peter “Yes Cora including Peter.” Peter gives Cora a look between I’ll-tear-you-in-half-later to amusement. 

“What about the Sheriff?” Laura asks, her arm that was around his baby’s brother's shoulders relaxing next to him. 

“He is a separate case. Even before Stiles returned to Beacon Hills, I have been talking to the other packs for a few weeks to let him in. A deputy can only do so much. Now, with his son’s best friend part of the supernatural community, it’ll be easier to gain his trust.” 

Derek stares into the distance. Just last night if someone asked him if he knows who Stiles is, he’ll have no clue. But this whole thing… memories are slowly coming back. Memories he thought have been gone forever. His mind wanders… He wonders how Stiles is, how different he is. Does he remember their childhood escapades together? Derek stops himself… It doesn’t matter. Stiles is now a different person. Plus, you can’t be sure he’s a normal human. He’s suspicious. Stiles is one of the only humans Derek knows that contacts his best friend through only _letters,_ in this modern age. No texts or phone calls when he comes home for the holidays. That’s a bit too suspicious to Derek. He needs to be careful. He was lucky last time and now one single misstep can cost him his entire family. He’s going to protect them, no matter what it takes. 

He leaves the room as Cora and his mum argue, looking around the room he knows this is going to be a long night. Honestly he doesn’t want to be a part of it, he needs to clear his head. 

Fishing for the phone in his pocket, He calls for his best friend. 

“Kira, I need a fucking drink.” 

—

Driving up on the Hill that overlooks Beacon Hills he ponders about the last time he trusted a human. No, he won’t trust any of them ever again. But Stiles isn’t a hunter… is he? He groans in annoyance at the thoughts that’s been spiralling to one conclusion to another. He didn’t exactly know how he felt about dinner the next week with the human and his sheriff father but he’s going to watch him like a hawk. Both of them. 

Pulling up, he spots Kira’s car and walks out of his, dragging the bourbon laced with wolfsbane that he’s snatched from his little pile of alcohol and sits right next to her on the back of her trunk, giving her a quick hug which she returns with a kiss on the cheek.

Kira’s long black hair trails down to her waist, few braided strands with purple beads in them. Derek helped her with some and he’s quite proud of her handiwork. She’s wearing a big marigold tee that stretches all the way down to her thighs covering the shorts that shows a little when she stretches her arms. She looks at him with a thoughtful expression before grabbing the bourbon and setting it beside her, out of Derek’s sight.

“Now Derry, whenever you call me to meet up here something’s up. No bourbon for you unless you tell me.” Derek groans and places his head on her shoulder. 

“Come on you big baby out with it.” She opens the bourbon, taking a sip out of it herself. 

“Scott’s best friend returned to Beacon Hills today.” He says in a soft voice, she listens intently, “Stiles Stilinski, sheriff’s son. Mum’s thinking about telling Stiles in on the secret. Scott hasn’t been doing very well with the training and has been losing control more and more. But with Stiles here… he’s so much calmer and Melissa said spending the night with Stiles was the first time he slept with no fur, fangs or claws. She watched him sleep next to him, no signs of a shift at all. Mum’s thinking Stiles is his anchor.” Kira offers the bourbon, knowing once Derek starts speaking he won’t stop unless he’s done. Derek takes a generous gulp and sighs before speaking again. 

“Stiles… Stiles used to be this boy that lived near the park by those woods,” he points to the left of Beacon Hills, the woods dark that goes for hundreds of acres. “Those woods were my favourite growing up. And one day when I realised Cora followed me out the house I brought her to the park. I tried to stop her from screaming god it was awful,” Kira chuckles, leaning against him too and taking more sips of the drink, “and this little 5 year old just… comes up to me and calls me pretty. Says I’m so pretty. How am I supposed to react to that?” Kira laughs, throwing her head back. 

“He ain’t wrong.” Derek responds by elbowing her in the ribs. “Abuse. That’s abuse Derry.” She deadpans, flicking his forehead. He chuckles before continuing. 

“I don’t really remember what happened after, but he’d follow me about as soon as he’ll see me emerging from the woods… and I’m pretty sure he proposed to me.” Kira blinks, then she laughs so hard she has to slap her thighs or she’ll hit someone else. Well it’s Kira, so after slapping her thighs, she started slapping Derek’s arm, throwing her head back and cackling like some maniac. 

“God I LOVE him. I love him already and I’ve never even met the guy.” Kira grabs the Bourbon from him, taking gulps before wiping her mouth and sighing. 

“Woah you okay? Remember, I’m the one who called. _I’m_ supposed to be the one getting drunk to stop from overthinking.” Derek grabs the Bourbon, taking generous gulps while eyeing his best friend. 

“Look Derry. What is it you’re even overthinking about?” She places a hand on his thigh, giving him a soft look. 

“I...I don’t know. Stiles… Stiles was important to me. I think. I remember when the full moons started to really affect me it was the smell of him on his blanket that made me calm down, made the pain lessen. The innocent little human always made me feel so calm. Then he left when I was 11. My ruts started and I grew up. He was gone and I forgot about him. After the fire… I forgot a lot. I forgot the life before it. My mind was too wrapped up about the fact that I almost got my whole family killed.” Tears pool in his eyes, as Kira wraps her arms around him, bringing his head to her shoulder, “What else have I forgotten? I barely even remember him. I keep trying to remember, rack up anything about him so that I know what to expect. So that I’m more prepared. Every night all I think about is what would’ve happened if Kate succeeded. This is a stranger, a _human_ coming to dinner at our house. I need to be on alert. I need to make sure no danger comes to my family the whole time he’s there. If I miss anything it could cost us our lives.” 

Derek is tipsy. He only ever cries in front of Kira tipsy, he somehow can’t cry without alcohol and Kira. Like his body refuses any moment of vulnerability, even in front of Kira, the number one person in the world he trusts right after his mum. Kira strokes his head, taking the Bourbon for herself and downing a little more than she can swallow. After a few coughs, Derek laughs, the mood lightens a little bit. 

“So that’s what this is really about. Let me say this, and I’ll say it over and over until you realise what I’m saying is true. It isn’t your fault. The fire was not your fault. You were a child, taken advantage of. Not every human is a hunter Derek. And of course you’ll forget! Evil Kate or not, it was 9 years ago Derry, I’m surprised you remembered this much. Stiles was what? 6? 7? Does _he_ remember? Stiles will be a different person now, the past won’t help you. Plus we don’t know if he’s a danger yet. That is _why_ we are going to find out. Obviously your family will be on their guard too, rely on them a little okay? What happened before won’t happen again. Derek, your family never blamed you. Don’t guilt yourself over something that never happened. It’s all Kate’s fault. As soon as you found out what Kate was planning, you told your mum. And it all worked out. You saved them Derry. _That’s_ what’s important. That everyone is safe, _alive._ ” She deadpans, taking more swings of the alcohol. 

Derek is silent. He breathes in deeply and out, thoughts circling his mind in a never ending cycle. The last time he trusted a human with his whole heart it almost cost him his family. He’s not willing to risk anything. Even if Stiles was once innocent, one wrong move, Derek _will_ attack first, questions later. 

“Look I know what you’re thinking. So if it makes you feel better, I’ll help you _if_ there’s anything to be wary of okay? I’ll be with you all the way.” That relaxes him a bit and he lets silence fill the void. They don’t know how long they sat in comfortable silence.

After a while, Derek releases himself from Kira before grabbing the bottle she’s been drinking from him. 

“Wha-hey!” She protests, making grabby hands at him. 

“What has got you downing this thing like it’s water?” He questions, giving her his signature judge-y look with the eyebrows. 

“Look I just- I just found out something about myself that I’m kind of shocked with so please pass the alcohol so that my mind does not think about it for a second. And brood more please, so that I can act like my life’s together for a few hours and give advice.” She goes for the bottle, an annoyed groan leaving her when he brings it to the side as soon as she jumps for it. 

“Well what is it? You want to tell me. You wouldn’t have mentioned it if you didn’t.” Kira slouches, thinking it over before crossing her arms and sighing. 

“Okay fine. Just-” She sits herself properly, legs dangling off the car. She taps her lap, Derek taking a swing of alcohol before throwing it on the cushioned backseat of Kira’s car and laying across the trunk, head on her lap looking up at the now starry sky. 

Before Kira goes on one of her long rambles, her hands need to be somewhere, kneading and soothing something so that it soothes her. She decidedly used Derek’s hair, as it’s dark, curly and soft. She hates it when he’s straightened it and puts so much product in his hair, hates it so much she’ll mess it up any chance she can. 

Derek closes his eyes as Kira works her way through his locks. “I- I think I’m gay.” Derek flies one eye open, he’s had his suspicions but Kira herself never really questioned her sexuality, well to him at least. 

“I just… all this time I thought it’s because I just want to be them, not be _with_ them. But fuck Derek… I kissed a girl in a party that a friend invited me to a few towns away and I just- just felt _something_ I never did with guys. It was… _amazing._ We well, fucked, and it felt way better than anything I’ve ever done with guys. When she called me beautiful my stomach _and_ vagina reacted in ways it has never for guys. Like my vagina throbbed from a word, how is that possible?” She cackles and sometimes Derek kind of forgets how open Kira is with him, “ I went through something amazing. And I’m supposed to be ashamed of it? For the longest time I thought I just didn’t have sexual urges but fuck Derek, I’ve been thinking about that night for days. And well touching myself thinking about it. I _can’t_ stop. God.” She leaves the hands in his hair and covers her face. 

“Derek what am I gonna tell mum? She always goes on and on about grandchildren. She has the same mindset as an old fashioned japanese grandma. Her reasons for making me know how to cook from an early age is so that my husband doesn’t leave me. Like what? She thinks it’s impossible for a woman to be with a woman. I would know, I _asked_ her. She says she’s okay with them as long as it’s not her children. I felt so ashamed. I’m so scared Derek. I- I’m terrified.” 

She starts shaking slightly and Derek immediately sits up and hugs her. She folds into his chest, wrapping his arms around her and comforting her in ways he knows she needs. “What does your dad think?” He whispers. 

“He-He uh I honestly don’t know. He’s never made any snide comments about gay people and I don’t know if he disagrees with the whole housewife thing because he never tells her to stop but he also never makes the same comments. It’s like, like he’s the neutral party. He frustrates me more than mum because _at least_ I know where she stands but he doesn’t do anything. I have no idea what he thinks.” She sobs, curling into his chest like if she just curls enough she can disappear deep inside, away from the rest of the world. 

They don’t know how long they sat there with Kira wrapped inside him sobbing her eyes out, Derek the whole time reassuring her and rubbing her back. 

“I’m glad you told me Keer.” He whispers. He never uses that nickname really but he felt that he needed to, at this moment, “I’m always here for you.” 

Kira looks up, eyes red and puffy. She gives him a wide grin and jumps on him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He scents her, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder, the neck a little too -He’s never rubbed it his cheek against it before, something with it being too intimate, a territory in which friends never go to- but right now it didn’t feel anything like that. It feels like scenting your sister, comforting her in the way a wolf would. Because Kira is pack, she’s family.

He wraps his arms around her waist, pressing his face against her neck in a tight, intimate embrace. “You always have a place in my family. I accept you, they do too. If you ever need a place, we’re here.” She pulls back a little, arms still around him but looking down. 

“Are they- would they be okay with me?” She questions. 

“More than okay. Mum used to sit us down, with each of us for hours telling us that whatever we feel is valid and that feeling different is okay. That we can always come to her about anything. That’s how I figured I’m bisexual myself.” 

“I knew Auntie Talia was amazing but just… wow. How come I never knew about this?” 

“Well I was scared. A lot. Despite what my mother thinks it felt like the whole school scorned me. Now I’m so grateful my mother was the first person to accept so easily. She treated me the same, no special attention and she didn’t hate me. As I grew older I realised more and more how exactly amazing she is.”

Kira leans into him again, her chin on his shoulder. “Makes me want to see her right now and give her the biggest hug. God the Hales are awesome.” She hums chuckling. “Thank you. I’ll call if I need to.” 

“Good.” 

They sat and talked more and more as the night grew darker and darker. Somewhere along the way Kira’s taken the bourbon out of her car and they finished it all. They acted ridiculous, going into their cars and pretending they’re in a street race, pointing at the stars to point out shapes like those coming of age films, chuckling and making fun of each other as they rant about bad sex experiences and how easily bruised their friend Tom’s masculinity is. They shared stories of myths, fun torture facts and jokes with a little too much dark humour. 

When Laura pulls up with a sigh, she looks at the two rolling about in the grass and leans over them. “Come on guys let’s go home.” Kira perks up, moving her arms and legs up and down. 

“Lauuuuuraaaaa! Look! Snow angels!” She laughs as Derek rolls side to side in a hurry. “And what is he making?” Laura laughs, seeing her baby brother who usually speaks in 3 word sentences rolling about like a crazy person. 

“I have no clue~ Derry’s just weird.” She tries to stand up, staggering and slurring her words. Laura immediately comes to help her up, before kicking Derek in the stomach to get his attention. 

“Get up you big teddy bear. Time to come home.” Derek stops rolling side to side and looks up with a frown. “What are you doing here?” She frowns right back down. 

“Getting your dumbasses home.” She uses an arm to pick him up easily, the two best friends wrap around the girl as she opens the backseat and shoves them in with ease. “What-what about my baby prima?” Kira mutters, her eyes about to close as she loses balance and quickly falls into Derek’s lap. 

“Get her in the morning. Now scoot I need to close the car door.” Kira folds her legs as Derek leans down and stares at her. “Kira… you look funny.” He chuckles, getting a lazy slap across the face. “Fu-fuck you.” 

The night was spent with Laura questioning her life choices and resulting in taking embarrassing photos of the two for blackmail as she takes care of them in Derek’s room. Kira definitely would’ve thrown up all over the floor if it wasn’t for Laura’s fast thinking and grabbing a bag open in front of her mouth. She even took their shoes off! 

As she turns the lights off, she watches with a somewhat fond expression as Kira’s body lay half across Derek’s, her middle finger just millimetres away from going up Derek’s right nostril. 

__

When Derek awoke, he wasn't surprised to find Kira drooling all over his t-shirt without a care in the world. He watches her sleep, a fond expression on his face as he recollects memories of last night and their talk. He’s glad he spoke to Kira. She knows exactly what to say to calm his mind, be blunt as she needs to. When he spirals like that is never good. He knows what to do now.

He moves, careful not to wake her up, sliding off underneath her. The sleeping girl grunts, sliding off of him and laying on her other side. Derek bites his lips to keep from laughing. He always seems to be laughing around her. 

Rummaging through his clothes for a new t-shirt and brushing his teeth, he walks down and into the kitchen once finished. Everyone’s there; Uncle Peter. Who’s highkey psychotic who quite enjoys the misery of others. He also hates being bored with a passion. There’s his oldest daughter Esme, mood maker and the only one who can control Xavier. She’s fearless like Cora but disciplined and down to earth like Laura. Despite how annoying Xavier is, she enjoys his company the most though she’ll never admit it. Then there’s his adopted werecoyote, Malia. She’s blunt, emotionally driven, a bomb mostly waiting to be exploded. But she is never dishonest, and ridiculously good at gambling. His wife, Jennifer. She’s funny, friendly, kind of bossy and can be really intimidating if she wants to. Their youngest, 8 year old Lance is just like every other born cub: energetic, curious, hyper, wanting to bite and climb everything, and is probably still asleep. 

Uncle Donovan and his second oldest child Colton are similar. Both are quiet oberserves, patient and intelligent. However as Donovan waits patiently for an opening and goes for an all-kill bite, Colton on the other hand quickly bites in fatal areas and retreats, over and over until it can’t take it anymore. Xavier, the oldest child and son, is kind of an asshole. He can be a bit too much with much disregard to people’s feelings and the situation, but he can also be the very reason it all stitches back together. He’s the extreme on both opposite sides of the spectrum. He lives in the present, with not much care for the future. And Rosie. Sweet, innocent, selfless Rosie. She’s the kind of person to bring a dead squirrel to the vet and visit it everyday to make sure it’s okay. And to slap you against the wall if needed. Thomas the youngest is in a little baby seat munching on a banana biscuit, smiling around the room. He’s always smiling. Then there’s Grandma Irma, one of the greatest people in the world. That’s it. She’s amazing, you can’t describe it. 

Derek stands against the kitchen door with crossed arms watching his pack bicker and move about in the kitchen. Xavier the tall prick and Esme the cutie immediately cover their noses. 

“Jeez Derek how much did you drink?” Esme complains, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Enough.” Derek replies, smirking a little. 

“Is Kira here too?” Xavier questions. 

“Is that even a question?” Esme comments. “Bet she’s drooling all over his bedsheets as we speak.” 

“Derek stop circling around her and ask her out already!” Xavier exclaims next to Esme. “Or I will.” He teases, his eyebrows moving up and down. Derek really wants to shove his face on the stove. 

Esme slaps her cousin on the head which Xavier returns with a slight growl. “Kira’s not some competition prize ya dimwit.” 

Talia eyes them before looking over at Derek. “Does her mum know she spent the night?” 

“I called.” Laura says next to her mum, sipping on some british tea. Cora gives her a weird look. 

“Are you drinking tea? With milk? That has to be one of the most diabolical things you’ve ever done and you’ve done a lot of them.” She scoffs, mixing her porridge. She ignores the powerful glare that Laura gives her. 

“Since Stiles is coming to dinner, I figured I should learn more about the country he spent half his life in.” Well that’s strangely thoughtful. 

Xavier rolls his eyes. “And that’s by drinking tea? How very noble of you.” He mutters under his breath but he knows everyone heard it. Esme slaps him on the arm. 

“Now that Derek is here…” Nicholas says, gesturing for Derek to sit by the island, “Yes we are here to talk about Stiles.” 

“There’s nothing to say. A human boy shouldn’t know about us.” Mali interrupts from the back by herself, looking at everyone with a dumbfounded expression, “Does no one ever learn from mistakes? The last time we let a human into our lives she manipulated Derek and almost killed all of us!” Peter moves towards her, “I _still_ have nightmares being trapped underneath, not being able to breathe and not being able to move from the waist down. And I bet it still scares all of you too. Yet we’re having fucking dinner with the same kind? I- I’m leaving.” She grabs her shoulder handbag and bolts for the door. Derek kind of agrees with her. He can’t take risks, not anymore. 

“Malia-” Talia starts but stops once she catches the look her brother gives her. 

“Look older sister. I understand why you are doing this, but a lot of us need time. Especially Malia.” He simply states, genuine. It’s a bit weird Derek thinks, seeing Peter being genuine. Peter scrapes the chair against the floor about to get up when Jennifer halts him, “I’ll go.” 

Jennifer gives her sister-in-law an apologetic look before running for her daughter. Peter sighs towards his sister, “Malia will cook dinner.” He gives his sister one last look, like he’s trying to unpuzzle her, before trailing his eyes down to the floor and taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Well that was climactic.” Both Colton and Esme hit him this time. _Not the time Xav._

“As I was saying, I did a background check on Stiles so that the family feels a bit safer about the boy.” If this was any other person Derek would defend it’s an invasion of privacy but honestly he feels better that they know about the mysterious person more.

“His real name is,” Everyone shifts in their seats, _real name?_ “Mieczyslaw Stilinski. I’m guessing Stiles is a nickname. He’s 16 and was born in Beacon Hills memorial hospital. He grew up in Beacon Hills until his mum moved with him to Poland when he, what we presume, was when he was 7.” He nervously glances over at Talia as she listens with an unreadable expression, a silent urge for him to go on. 

“You presume?” Peter questions. 

“It is registered that his grandmother's home is his address when he left Beacon Hills at 7 however he wasn’t seen in the neighborhood until he was about 9. I couldn’t find anything about him during that near 2 year time period.” Well, that’s certainly isn’t suspicious. Not at all. 

“He left for an elite boarding school in Scotland when he was 9. When he was 15 his mother died of cancer. Then at 16 he returned to live with his father.” He finishes, glancing around the room. 

“Well that wasn’t one of the most weird and short background checks dad has ever had.” Cora states, snorting from the back of her throat. 

“Starting boarding school at 9? What kind of school is this?” Xavier questions, an eyebrow raised as he licks porridge off his spoon. 

“Well… I couldn’t get much information about the school. Even less than what I found of Stiles Stilinski.” This is met with suspicious side eyes. Nicholas is one of the best at finding information, especially about people. 

“Well that isn’t suspicious. At all.” Cora deadpans, “Shocker! The human we’re inviting for dinner has a mysterious past!” Xavier laughs with her until Talia sent them an annoyed glare with eyes flashing crimson. Derek tries to stop himself from snickering as he watches them crouch in their seats. 

“This school… what is it called?” Peter questions as he rubs his chin. 

“That’s the only significant information I could find. It’s called The Mierdo Academy.” He replies. 

“Nothing else?” Peter questions, amused. _Of course he finds lack of information interesting._

“I’m guessing it’s really old. Schools with whole legacies are hard to find, especially getting into. They’re tight. Most families send their children there for generations.”

“Did you look into his parent’s background?” Donovan asks. 

“Yes. His father, Noah Stilinski, was born and grew up in Beacon Hills while his Mother, Claudia Stilinski, moved here from Poland after meeting Noah. After hours of search I found out Claudia and her mother also attended a boarding school in Scotland.” 

“Mierdo Academy.” Colton states, the first he’s spoken all morning. 

“So that rules out how he got in. Family connections.” Peter mutters to himself before speaking louder, “How’s the Sheriff’s relationship with his wife and son?” 

“Good from what I’ve heard. The sheriff has boasted about his son and their family travels all the time down at the station.” Nicholas and Peter share a look, a mental conversation before Nicholas speaks up again, “I too was confused as to why he didn’t move to Poland with them. He’d fly to Poland for at least a month every year. When his wife was dying, he stayed there for months before returning. And without his son.” 

“Why did his son not come back then but now? Boarding schools like that still have two years left.” Donovan questions, crossing his arms. 

“You can leave school at 16 in the UK. Stiles must’ve waited until he could before leaving the school to live with his father.” Derek replies, remembering his essay on the difference between the UK’s and America’s education system; Which one’s better? Well personally he rolls with Scandinavia but if he had to choose he wouldn’t. 

“I don’t know about this. This is too risky mum. Why the sheriff too? He’s law enforcement! What about Thomas? What about Lance? Am I the _only_ one who has a brain around here?” Cora exclaims, looking around, accidentally a bit too long on Rosie. 

“Don’t look at me. I’m only here to have Aunt Jennifer’s scrambled eggs.” Rosie comments, hiding behind her brother Xavier.

“You can’t protect your pack by sitting idly by Cora. Scott was bit in _our_ territory. It’s time we take responsibility for that.” Talia reminds her with a stern, cold voice. Her eyes flash crimson for a few seconds which Cora responds with her gold ones. They glare at each other.

“What are we protecting ourselves from?” Colton questions. Everyone looks towards him, his voice blank of accusation matching his blank expression, “Why have you been talking to the other packs about letting the Sheriff in the know? Why is it important we get the sheriff on our side? This isn’t the first time a bitten has had immense trouble over control. Why are we giving Scott special treatment? Does Deaton even know? Why haven’t we seen much of him except for Rosie? Let’s say we end up trusting Stiles, what does that mean for us? What can Stiles protect us from?” And there he is. Analyser Colt. Always asking the right questions that he never expects to be answered. “I know you won’t tell us anything, plus I doubt the human can do much in a room full of werewolves, but at least give us something to work with,” he looks over at Derek with soft eyes, “we need it.” He finishes. 

The room stares blankly at the 14 year old. He who never speaks much but values actions above words, just like Derek. The middle school student who did not cry when his mother died and instead comforted his sister Rosie and helped take care of Thomas. One who always seems stand-offish but always has the best intentions. Talia answers his string of questions with one word. 

“Protect. I am doing all of this to protect our pack.” Though it isn’t as specific as Colton hoped, he nods his head and bites into a piece of bacon, back to munching and eating as if he didn’t just spring on a bunch of questions on his aunt. “Okay.” He replies back. Peter looks over at his nephew proud, seeing him ask all the important questions without being frightened of his alpha, being the first to make up his mind, leaves an impression on him. That’s when it hits him. Colton will be an _excellent_ future left hand. 

Derek doesn’t know how this is all to protect the pack since it all seems just like a chain of risks, but he trusts his mother. He trusts his pack. 

“Okay?” Cora repeats Colt’s words.

Colton looks at his aunt with firm eyes. “Okay.” He says again. 

“If Colt is okay with it, so am I.” Rosie says, pointing to her mouth which Colton shoves a piece of bacon into. The little baby Thomas smiles, giggling and Xavier gives him another biscuit. “If Colt and Rosie are okay with it, so am I.” Xavier chuckles. 

“That doesn’t even make sense! Colt’s only 14-” Cora starts and this time it is Rosie who shocks everyone. 

“Oh shut it. You’re 15 yourself and all you do is complain. Colt here laid out the facts, the specific questions, with respect may I add, without losing his calm. I don’t think age has anything to do with it.” Cora zips her mouth. Spending time with Deaton and Jennifer all the time has really changed her. There’s silence again. Colton lays his head on Rosie’s shoulder and rubs a little as a thank you for being there for him. 

“Well dad and I are okay with it. He’s been okay with it since he found out Stiles is the sheriff’s son. I can hear him practically buzzing with amusement.” Esme comments. 

“You already know my answer.” Laura says, smiling towards her mother. She looks to Derek, expecting an answer. 

“I trust our Alphas.” Derek replies simply, nodding to his parents. “I do too.” Donovan says.

The whole room darts their gazes at Cora, expectantly. “I… I- if Malia is okay with it then I am.” Cora says, surprised everyone is okay with it. She knows Malia isn’t and using her as a scapegoat is kind of an asshole thing to do, but it came out before she even thought about it. Well, she realises she’s been stand corrected in the next minute. 

“I’m okay with it.” They hear before they smell. They all twist their necks to the door, watching Malia nervously stand there in front of her mother. “I’ll try.” 

Derek can feel the pack bond. Strong and trusting. Thomas screams in happiness, about to go in a fit from being caged in the seat for too long. Everyone’s looking at each other with a slight smile and for the first time in a while, Derek feels they can overcome anything. 

“Fine, Fine!” Cora shouts while Grandma Irma hides her smirk behind her mug. 

Malia made big roasts of rabbit and radish that night, with help from her mother. 

__

Okay okay. Maybe the pack can overcome anything, yes, but can _Derek_ overcome this? 

Because when the young polish boy comes walking through the door in his delicate smell of pinewood, sea salts, tingly old spices and… _is that coffee?_ Derek’s brain freezes. Like frozen icebergs shit. He smells so _good_ Derek has trouble catching up with anything around him. Doesn’t even notice Xavier coughing next to him, as Stiles stands in front of him with a hand out and a smile that makes Derek’s stomach flutter a little. 

Derek snaps out of his totally-not-creepy-stare and quickly shakes his hand. In that 2 seconds of hand movement, he argued with himself to keep their hands locked or let it go. He decides on the latter, as the other will make him look like a creep. And blackmail material for Laura; he doesn’t really want to add more to her “Der-bear bribes” files

Everyone is here except for Thomas, Lance, Jennifer and the betas. Stiles moves around the living area, shaking hands with a smile, Scott trailing behind him. As Stiles sits next to Scott on a couch, Derek can’t help but thoroughly scan him up and down -mostly because he needs to be on alert and also because the high waisted belt around his hips that show when he lifted his arms up really compliments him- he doesn’t know what he was expecting of what the boy would be like, but it’s not exactly like this. 

With a cashmere cotton sweater with sleeves that cover his hands and shows his collarbones, over a silk striped forest green and white buttoned blouse just buttoned up to below the collarbones tucked in by a black leather belt and peanut brown trousers that cut off right at the ankles. Avocado socks partnered up with white vans, he also wears rings of silver; gems and snakes adorn his long pretty fingers, hair slicked loosely back with one long dangly earring of a platinum steel sword and a plain chain necklace. In short: he’s kind of totally took Derek’s breath away. 

“Dude you’re like, totally staring.” _Not helping._ Xavier leans closer, “So that’s your type?” He snickers which Derek elbows him for right at the ribs. Hard. 

“Stiles! Sheriff Stilinski.” Talia greets, a big grin etched on her face. She shakes both hands, “Would you two like a drink?” She questions, as Nicholas hands Melissa and Scott their favourite drinks and walk out the room together. 

“Anything?” Stiles says. 

“Anything.” She nods. 

“How does a Whiskey -straight- sound?” He beams with puppy eyes, right before the sheriff slaps him across the head. 

“Stiles.” He warns, glaring at his 16 year old son. “Just water please.” He replies to Talia.

Esme and Malia walk in with Cora and Laura, greeting Stiles excitedly except for Malia who gives a shy smile and Cora who looks like she wants to be anywhere but here. Stiles doesn’t mind, even complimenting Cora’s shoes and Malia's shoulder bag.

“I see you’re not so bad yourself.” Cora tries to compliment, but her big ego got in the way. 

“Well, I try. After living with a fashion diva most of your life, it kind of gets stuck with you.” Stiles turns to Esme as she speaks, “Your rings…” 

“Ah yes. Kind of have a thing for uh, silver rings.” He holds out his hand as he sips the water, fluttering his fingers about, “One of the only attractive things about me as my friend said once. Don’t worry, I didn’t take it to heart, considering the only attractive thing about him was when he didn’t speak.” Esme and Laura laugh loudly, even Cora cackling. 

Esme reaches out and touches the snake on his ring finger, “The ring finger… any particular reason?” 

“Well my ex was a snake so I replaced the cheesy couple ring she gave me with this.” The four stare at him, blinking, “She wasn’t _actually_ a snake, she uh, she was a liar.” Is it bad that Derek kind of wants to laugh? Malia beats him to it. The three girls stills, not knowing how to react. 

“Well I’m glad that my bad experiences give you pleasure.” He comments, making Malia laugh harder. That eases them, chuckling a little bit too. 

“And the dagger earring?” Cora questions. 

“No particular reason. Just makes me feel like a bad bitch.” He flicks imaginary long hair back and bats his eyelashes.

“Stiles language!” The sheriff warns, obviously not too far away to prevent him from eavesdropping. 

Esme and Cora giggle. “And your accent! God tell me, do you like british tea?” She asks, peering into his eyes like she’s about to unravel some century old mystery. 

“I…” he says excitedly, starting off with a smile, “ _hate it.”_ He finishes with a scowl, shivering a little. Xavier laughs out loud next to Derek on the couch, hearing them talk. The girls all chuckle at that, all continuing to engage in the conversation, even Malia. _Impressive_ Derek downs his champagne just as Colton and Peter walk in. 

Stiles stands, shaking Peter’s hand briefly then shaking Colton’s, who’s holding a book with his right hand. 

“ _Great expectations_?” Colton looks up just as he’s about to walk away, “Charles Dickens. How are you enjoying it so far?” Stiles starts with a sincere voice. 

“Good. You know him?” Colton replies, hugging the classic book to his chest. 

“Of course I do. What’s the point of growing up in the UK when you don’t even know Charles Dickens?” He sits back down, laying the glass on the coffee table. 

“Which is your favourite?” Colton fiddles with the spine of his book, not exactly wanting to stand there in front of a seated person. Stiles notices, pushing his father out the way and gesturing for Colton to sit, his father glaring at him with a frown. Colton, accepting the invitation, sits. 

“ _The tale of two cities_.” Colton growls a little in his chest, which Stiles’ must’ve perceived as a scoff as he starts defending himself. 

“Yes yes I _know_ that’s _everyone’s_ favourite but it’s good okay!” 

“That’s like the Für Elise of the classical music world.” Colton deadpans, continuing the convo, shocking both Xavier and Derek. 

“No doesn’t _To kill a mocking bird_ or _Moby Dick_ fit better?” Stiles scrunches his nose, leaning on his arm and fiddling with his ear, a smirk on his face, knowing he’s about to be questioned by quite an intelligent person. Derek frankly finds the fact that he can so easily get Colton into a long conversation like that is more attractive than the position he sits in. Especially since the way he’s sitting with his legs wide open like that is plenty attractive. _God what is happening to me._

As Stiles and Colton engage in a fire-like conversation which has Colt _smiling_ and Stiles making onomatopoeic sounds, Derek doesn’t miss how the girls, Xavier and Peter look at Stiles and the Sheriff, intently and _observing._ Then there’s him, thinking about how attractive Stiles looks laid back and fiddling with his ear. Very attractive ear. He didn’t know an ear could be attractive. Derek is increasingly becoming worried for himself. 

This also confirms that Stiles has no recollection of him. No recognition showed when Derek introduced himself and his heart didn’t skip a beat at all looking at him. Derek doesn’t know if he should feel disappointment or content, content so that he could observe him with no worries, or disappointment because… he doesn't want to know. He doesn’t know what kind of hypnotism Stiles has hit him with, but he’s going to beat it. He won’t allow himself to be tranced. Not again. 

As soon as Rosie enters with Uncle Donovan and Grandma Irma, Stiles stands again with a greeting smile. Derek watches, shocked, when Grandma Irma pulls him in for a hug instead. Stiles stilled, before genuinely smiling and hugging back. 

“Bloody hell what a good hug.” Stiles compliments, smiling at the lady. Their interaction is purely warm, it makes Derek almost smile if it wasn’t for the shock taking over most of his brooding face. 

“Irma?!” Sheriff says with huge excitement. She turns to him, giving him a big hug too. 

Derek and his cousins are quite confused at the moment, even Uncle Donovan and Uncle Peter Derek notes. 

“Noah, you’ve grown.” She says, hands on his shoulders as her eyes bolt up and down with an impressed expression. 

“You’re still alive. Wow.” Something about that statement makes him rapidly look at his grandma. However, She is not insulted, her smile widens. 

“And I’ll continue to be so.” She chuckles, turning to Stiles, “I can’t believe…” Stiles cranes his neck between the two in perplex. “He is brilliant Noah. Witty, just like his mother.” 

The whole rooms’ eyes widen and Stiles moves forward. “You knew my mother?” 

“A long time ago my child. Before she even proposed.” Stiles gasps, “ _She_ proposed?” He questions in anticipation, “Wow I knew my mother was a badass but look at her crush patriarch norms.” He gives Grandma Irma another huge hug, so happy everyone can hear his skin buzz. “I expect lots of very embarrassing stories. In detail.” He demands, pulling away as the sheriff silently pleads with Grandma Irma not to. She ignores it. “Of course. It is my pleasure. I have impeccable memory.” The three continue to talk, giggling, the sheriff’s face going redder by the second and lots of touching on the shoulder. 

Derek and Xavier exchange looks, then with all his cousins. He’s not the only one confused and shocked, as Uncle Donovan and Uncle Peter look at Granny Irma like she just revealed her biggest secret. 

Conversations slither to a stop as Scott, Melissa, Talia and Nicholas return to the room, slightly tapping a spoon against a glass. “Dinner’s ready everyone!” 

Talia leads everyone into the dining hall, where a long dark oak dining table is stretched across the room, layers of silk underneath tall silver candle holders, many flicks of fire brightening the room. On one end of the room is a furnace, a family portrait taken from 3 years ago sits atop it, just when the new Hale house was completed. The walls are dark blue, cloth of Hale insignia embedded on it hang off from the sealing. The table is filled with whole turkeys, chickens and ham, roast and mash potatoes, bacon asparagus, cauliflower cheese, pots of steamed vegetables and colossal bowls of apple sauce and gravy. Derek’s stomach grumbles loud enough for the werewolves to hear but low enough for the humans to not. Derek mentally sends his thanks as no one reacts to it.

“Woah…” Stiles, his father, Scott and his mother say as Talia gestures them to their seats. “That is a _lot_ of food.” Sheriff Stilinski says. 

Derek hears Scott and Stiles talk in a low voice. “What do you mean Woah? Weren’t you helping them?” Stiles whispers, tucking his seat in. “Dude I was chopping vegetables.” Scott replies, elbowing Stiles a little. “Good. Anything else you would’ve exploded their kitchen.” Derek has to put effort to listen to their conversation well as the rest of the family sit and start conversations as well. 

Talia, at the top of the table, clinks her champagne glass for attention before holding it up. “I just wanted to say, thank you for Melissa, Scott, Stiles and the Sheriff, for joining us at dinner tonight,” She leans to Stiles a little, “Welcome back to Beacon Hills Stiles.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles reddens a bit before quickly taking his glass filled with juice and standing, “To the Hales.” 

“To the Hales.” Everyone repeats in unison, glasses up, before downing their drinks. Stiles and Talia sit back down, both glasses empty. “Let’s eat.” Talia says, leaning back on her chair.

Stiles sits there, unmoving, as the whole Hale family digs into the meat first. Scott too, with his mother and the sheriff going for the vegetables instead. Derek, right across from the boy, watches him fiddle with his fingers and glance at Talia. He surprises himself when he speaks. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” It’s the first thing he’s said to the boy except for his full name, but as much as he finds Stiles attractive, he’s going to find out what makes Stiles special. Even if that means making the boy very uncomfortable to come. 

Stiles flinches, watching everyone place food on their plates and his ears turns red. “Is there a problem Stiles? The food?” Talia asks worried, quickly leaning forward. 

“No no! I uh- I just…” he looks to Talia, “At school, the students didn’t start eating until the headmaster did, or the professor at the head of the table. It uh- stuck with me.” Talia blinks, moving her neck down to her empty plate and to Stiles’. 

“Oh. What excellent manners.” She comments, grabbing for the ham, taking a generous slice, and placing it on her plate. Stiles takes that as his cue and goes for the chicken, a lot more relaxed now, unknown to him the curious gazes that fall on his back every chance he turns his back on someone. 

After a few minutes of only the sounds of chewing and cutlery against plates, Peter from the left of his sister, drowns a piece of turkey in apple sauce and satisfyingly munches on it. 

Derek watches as Donovan notices that and pulls the sheriff’s attention off his son and starts a conversation, giving the cue to ask the boy questions without showing any malice intentions. 

“How is the move back in Beacon Hills going?” Talia starts with a motherly look of someone attentively listening. 

“It’s been good so far. My room is mostly how it looked back in Poland and the dorms so I’m glad. Hopefully I can call it home once again.” 

“You will. Don’t worry.” With a reassuring smile towards the teen, she returns to her meat. 

“So Stiles, what made you come back to this little town called Beacon Hills?” Peter questions innocently, though everyone knows except the father and his son that he’s definitely started his ‘soft’ interrogation. 

“Well after my mum died, I realised I needed to be with my father, though it took a while.” His voice is strong and confident, no trace of sadness or irregular beating for his dead mother. Almost like it happened a long time ago. A loss only after a year isn’t like this… is it?

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Peter says, mostly to be polite. Stiles nods, obviously not knowing what to say to that, but honestly he doesn’t have to. Derek’s sure someone will pick up the conversation again. 

“You mentioned earlier about your school. What’s it like?” Laura questions from across the room, taking the opportunity. 

“Well it’s really old. Strict but also free? It’s interesting how different it is from Beacon Hills High.” 

“Oh how different is it exactly? Don’t tell me there’s another version of Maths out there. Seriously, don’t.” Xavier says, pulling in a more humorous approach to make him say more than he needs to. It works. 

“Ha no Mathematics is the same everywhere, boring and kind of time consuming.” He looks to Xavier, “Well for one we don’t have to ask when to go to the bathroom at all. And once we get our own dorm rooms we can just leave the classroom anytime. Which is at 14. I feel like I’m 5 again asking to go pee god it’s humiliating. How does no one else find that embarrassing? Am I the weird one?” Stiles rants, eating mash potato, “Bloody hell this has to be one of the best mash I’ve ever had in my life. Anyways, you should’ve heard my shock when I heard how much written homework you guys get. How much I’ve got. It’s only been a week!” He stabs into a turkey leg and rips off a bit of the meat. 

“You guys get your own dorm rooms?” Cora asks, confused and jealous though she’s never lived in a dorm. 

“Well not everyone. Depends really. I don’t know how it works to be honest.” He mutters. _Heart steady._ Okay he’s not lying. 

It’s Colton’s turn to speak this time. “Your school sounds fun. What’s it called again?” He questions. 

“Ah it’s called Mierdo Academy. You’ve probably never heard of it.” He added the last absentmindedly, but Peter won’t let him get away with that. 

“Why do you think that?” 

“Oh no I didn’t mean anything bad by it, the school is just very closed off with the rest of the world. I mean no signal, no internet.” Peter nods.

“You must be a very brilliant man to be able to get in then.” Nicholas comments. Stiles looks to him and smiles before returning to his food. _No denial huh._

“How are your friends? You must miss them.” Laura says with slight sympathy.

“Yes I do. I miss them a lot, everyday and it’s only been a week.” Laura smiles, “I bet they miss you too.” 

“So Stiles, what’s the difference with Polish and American schools? I assume you attended public school before going to boarding school, correct?” Nicholas questions with curious eyes. 

“Ah no I never went. Mum and I travelled around before I was old enough to attend boarding school.” 

“Oh, which countries have you been to?” Xavier is intrigued, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward. 

“Xavier dear, elbows off the table.” Talia commands and he obeys. 

“Oh we’ve been to many! Hong Kong, Malaysia, Japan, Italy, Greece, Spain, most of Europe and Asia actually. We went to a few in Africa and South America. It was great.” 

“That’s amazing. I myself want to travel. Xavier and I are planning to go together.” Esme joins in an excited tone, “You can tell me great places to go to.”

“I would love to. I don’t remember much but I did have a travel journal with my mother. I’d love to show you and Xavier it sometime.” Both Xavier and Esme nod eagerly, both having planned to travel together as soon as Xavier finishes his first four years of college. Now that he has, they’re at the saving money and planning stage. Derek is happy they’ve been given permission to do what they desire. 

“So after going around the world, when did you move to Poland?” Nicholas says. 

“Around 9? I don’t really remember .” He gives the gazes a sheepish grin and drinks some water. 

“What’s the difference between Beacon Hills and where you lived in Poland? Except for the food of course.” He adds, hoping the slight humour can ease Stiles from the last question, noticing his uncomfortableness.

“Not much really. Great community, great neighbours,” he gestures to the Hale family, “Oh and also everyone knows pretty much each other. I have been regarded as _the sheriff’s son_ more than my own name. Oh well, guess they won’t ever have the pleasure of even muttering the high decree and honour of thy name.” His voice turns into a very stereotypical posh English accent, mocking people’s ignorance. Derek wants to bleach his eyes as Stiles pretends to whip long imaginary hair behind his ear. The table laughs.

“Speaking of the food, how is Polish food?” Cora questions, licking her lips. 

“It’s okay? I have some favourites. But _oh_ I have never seen a burger so big as I have here. The burgers and curly fries are absolutely amazing here too, bloody hell I’ve been dreaming about them.” He looks to the ceiling with nostalgia, “I miss you.” He whines, reaching his hand into the air. 

“What do you do for fun? We can go sometime.” Laura states, leaning on her palms. 

“Really? I’m free like any time. All I do when I’m not hanging out with this fella here is paint parts of my room or read. Even at 4am I’m free.” He pauses, “Wait does this mean you’re paying?” He uses his ultimate weapons and gives Laura puppy eyes and a pout. They stare at each other, battling in some secret dimension which Laura loses. 

“How about this? I’ll bring Xavier, Esme and Derek and they can pay for it. You let me see your room and I bring them. Deal?” She brings a hand out. 

“Deal.” Stiles nods seriously and shakes her hand, “Wait why my room?” 

“You ask _after_ shaking her hand? Boy you just made a deal with the devil.” Xavier says before leading forward with a whisper, “Goodluck, you’re going to need it.” 

Stiles shivers as he dangerously looks to Laura who’s smirking evilly. 

“Made any new friends? You can bring them.” Derek says softy, trying to ease the boys’ little fear towards his sister. He knows that feeling all too well… 

“Nope. Just have Scotty here, but I’m more than okay with that.” The man in answer gives Stiles a slight nudge and a grin. Stiles then turns to everyone else with an excited smile. 

“Well enough about me. Which one of you lucky fellows has the pleasure to train my best friend?” He queries in sarcasm. Scott groans, covering his face as Stiles’ eyes dart around the table, a smirk forming on his lips. Everyone looks to Derek expectantly. 

“So it’s you huh,” Stiles looks at him, eyes almost dancing with amusement, “I hope he isn’t giving you a hard time with lacrosse.” He swiftly takes his father’s glass and sips. His father notices, giving him a glare before returning with his conversation with Donovan. 

“No, he has improved greatly.” Derek replies, eyeing Stiles’ movement. Stiles takes another sip of his father’s wine before speaking again. 

“I hope his condition isn’t a problem,” he turns to Scott who seems nervous and sheepish, “Which I don’t think it is considering I haven’t seen your inhaler at all this week. Isn’t lacrosse a contact sport?” He raises a brow, cutting into a roast potato and dipping it into some apple sauce. 

Scott is silent. Of course he is, he didn’t even think about the inhaler. He hasn’t needed it for months. Melissa speaks, saving the day. “Through Talia’s help with natural remedies, Scott has been using his inhaler less and less. He has gone for weeks without his inhaler. It is honestly a miracle.” Stiles looks around the room, sharing a brief moment with Derek. Derek feels like he’s being stripped naked, being watched straight into his soul. Stiles finally looks away, giving Scott a natural smile. 

“That’s really good Scotty. I’m happy for you man.” Scott smiles back with relaxed shoulders, happy the tense moment is gone now. Melissa starts talking to Grandma Irma again as Stiles diverts his attention to Derek, twirling the glass of wine while biting his lower lip. _Wow._

“And you? How did you get stuck with his annoying ass?” He chuckles, wrapping an arm around Scott. Derek is sure Stiles knows something, the way he looks between Derek and Scott, like he’s working his way through a puzzle. 

“I owe him. Saved my best friend and when I asked him how to thank you, he asked to be coached by Beacon Hills’ former lacrosse captain.” Derek has always been good with lies and watching Stiles elbow his best friend with a bright grin he knows he’s been deceived. Well, you can’t exactly go straight to thinking that Scott is being trained to control his wolf because he got bit on Hales’ turf and Derek is his trainer because he’s the next beta trainer after his father. 

“Scott has always had some hero complex.” Stiles comments, sipping more alcohol. Scott tries to get his mother’s wine with a sneaky hand which Melissa slaps away without a glace. Stiles’ father has not drunk any alcohol the whole time he’s been here, just glaring at his son as Stiles drinks it instead. 

With Derek’s mother not wanting to tell someone how to raise their child and noticing how Stiles twirls it, sips, breathes through his mouth before swallowing, she knows he has drunk wine many times before. She doesn’t mind, as long as there’s no drunkenly teenagers during a pleasant evening. 

“Tell me about it.” Cora states to Stiles, “He tried to save me when I was getting harassed. He threatened them and stood in front of me, getting beat to the floor instead. The stupidity.” She shakes her head, trying to copy Stiles and go for Laura’s glass but is received by a killing glare. She retreats her hand slowly. Stiles noticed this and put the glass back on his dad’s glass mat, probably not wanting to be the bad influence for the rest of the teenagers.

“Scott, there were a million things you could’ve done and that was it?” Stiles laughs as Scott hits him on the shoulder, hard. Like werewolf strength hard. Everyone waits for Stiles to fall back onto his father and on the floor when instead he rubs the spot Scott hit with a fake frown. “That hurt. Maybe if you hit them that hard you would’ve gotten away with a black eye.” Scott continues to hit him in embarrassment, Stiles not batting an eye. _Is no one else seeing this?_

Derek scans the room as most of the Hale pack mask their shock. Then suspicion. This is definitely a red flag. No human can act like that was nothing. And frankly, Stiles definitely doesn’t seem like he’s acting like it doesn’t hurt like a bitch, he’s doing the opposite actually. Probably not to bruise Scott’s ego. _Hah get it? Bruise?_ Okay Derek is definitely spending way too much time with his father in the library where the man cracks the most dad joke ever known to man.

Stiles continues to make jokes with lots of sarcasm and wit with Scott urging him to stop. He continues though, enjoying Scott’s displeasure. _Well that’s a sadist if I ever saw one._ Surprisingly it’s Melissa who tells Stiles to stop. Complying, Stiles goes back to his food. “Get the big guy over there to teach you a few moves next time.” He loudly whispers to Scott, “I think he wants to kill me, he won’t stop staring at me.” Stiles whispers in a lower voice. Xavier and Esme snort, choking on their food. Stiles eyes them before continuing, “Does Der Bear over there think leather jackets make him look cool? Cause frankly he just looks like a serial killer.” Xavier, Esme and Cora almost spit out their food, coughing loudly as Rosie and Colton give them water and pat their back. 

“You guys okay…?” Stiles asks them in a normal voice, worried. 

“Yeah yeah totally fine. Everything’s good.” Xavier quickly replies, wiping his mouth. 

Derek takes it back. Every attractive thing he finds of the boy. God he just got called Der Bear by a _stranger._ He wants to die, Laura won’t let him live with that at all. Derek slowly turns to his sister, colour leaving his face as an evil smirk creeps on her lips. _Fuck._ Even his mum is smiling. Wow, is it make-Derek-miserable-day already? 

Everyone continues to eat as Xavier, Esme, Laura and Colton make small talk with Stiles. Derek is in a deep conversation with his parents and uncle about his current studies when Rosie speaks for the first time to Stiles. 

She fiddles with her fingers and asks with a shyness to her voice, “Your jewellery… did you make them yourself?” Derek watches with fascination as Stiles smiles and plays with his rings. “Yes, some. You can tell?” 

“I… I make them too. Or, trying to at least. They’re not silver like yours, I mostly make designs.” 

“Oh with Acrylic?” She nods, “I’ve made some too, but I don’t anymore. If you want I can give you some silicone molds I don’t use anymore?” Rosie shyly nods again, replying with a small thank you and returning to speak with Melissa and her grandma. Derek doesn’t miss the glint in his mother’s eyes. 

__

After everyone has finished up and only piles of bones reside in everyone’s plates, Stiles brings together clatters of cutlery to help when Talia gives him a firm “No” taking the forks and knives from his hands and leaving to the kitchen. Derek wants to laugh at the disbelief plastered on the boy’s face. 

Everyone goes to gather in the game room just before 8pm, Stiles taking his sweater off and loosening his belt on the way. Derek definitely doesn’t stare at his collarbones and chest, how the blouse perfectly hangs off his shoulders. Nope, definitely not. 

The game room technically has two floors, with a big balcony on the side looking into the room and couches facing towards the chandeliers. At the end of it is a clear sliding door into the outside, a balcony which stretches to a quarter of the house. It’s where Peter goes off to smoke, something about wanting to feel the fierce heat and fire like his wolf does. He doesn’t understand why Peter can’t just wolf out for a bit instead, it’s a nasty habit. 

The room is high ceiled, two long gold chandeliers hang over a velvet pool table. Again there’s a furnace on one side with a family portrait on top of it, taken when Talia and her brothers were around Cora’s age; Derek’s great grandmother stands next to his grandma, the subject of the amazing tales he’s been told of. He’s never met the alpha he’s never met before and never will. On the other side of the pool table is a tropical green velvet casino table, burgundy cushioned chairs around it. 

Stiles immediately goes to it, admiring the detail on the prints and stroking where the dealer sits. “You play?” Donovan asks, standing next to him. “Yeah, haven’t played in a while though.” Donovan sits himself on the dealer’s chair and gestures to Stiles to do too. Donovan takes out a pack of cards, “Which game do you wanna play?” He questions, as Nicholas and Peter sit on the velvet chairs with glasses of bourbon. Stiles looks around, seeing Scott, Cora, Malia, Esme and Xavier head upstairs to where he’s been told by Xavier where the “Modern” game room is. He turns on his heel to Melissa sitting on a couch next to Talia and Sheriff engaging in a conversation, to Derek and Colton making drinks on the side bar as Rosie and Grandma Irma take out a board game and he finally drags the chair back and sits. He’s made up his mind. “Mini-Baccarat.” 

“Easy money.” Peter says with a raised brow and slides his drink to Stiles, “My asian friend made me play with his family a lot one summer.” Stiles replies, sipping the bourbon and nonchalantly sliding it back over. “ I played mahjong and pai gow more than I did with Poker and Blackjack.” Stiles smiles at the memory. 

“I’ll join.” Colton says, sitting the nearest to his dad, “Derek you too.” It’s one of the first times Colton asks Derek anything so he silently complies, sitting between his father and Stiles. “We need two more…” Nicholas says, looking over at the three adults in a heated debate. “Love, wanna join a game of mini-baccarat?” 

She looks to Donovan and nods, “Sure.” She sits next to Stiles and gives him a smile. She looks over at the other 5 and pulls an extra chair next to her. 

Her voice booms throughout the room, “One please come down to play mini-baccarat.” She voices into the silence. One comes down, the person Derek knows Stiles least expected. 

Malia sits next to Talia and gives her father a small smile as Donovan sets the chips down and the cards into the shoe. Once everything is set, he takes out small packs of money and sends one to each person. Stiles laughs, holding the fake prints in his hand and how every paper has the same smiling face of Grandma Irma.

“Commission?” Stiles asks. 

“No no it’s a 1:1 ratio. We don’t do that here at the Hales.” Donovan replies. 

“I’m glad. My friend’s grandma would milk me any chance she got.” Stiles chuckles, putting one paper of $100 down. 

“I’m no different if I was playing dear.” Grandma Irma comments from the back. Stiles giggles.

The game starts as the Sheriff and Melissa intently observes. Now Derek has played Poker more compared to Baraccat so he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. Plus sitting next to Stiles is distracting him in more ways than one. _God that fucking scent._

Stiles wins the most money by the end, betting on a tie twice and winning both of them; one with a tie of 0’s and the other on a tie pair on the player’s. Malia, Colton and Peter are completely shocked, as Stiles gathers the fake prints around him with a smirk. 

“I- how?” Malia questions. 

“Luck is only opportunity met with preparation.” He simply says, nodding his head arrogantly. 

They change the game, mostly because Malia wants to beat Stiles, and because Colton and Peter want to participate in mere amusement. 

Halfway through Poker everyone from upstairs have sat around the couches to watch. Xavier and Esme can’t help but cheer for Colton with a weird chant which Colt ignores, Laura and Cora chant for Derek and he wants to bury himself into the floor. The rest play pool and make comments on Malia’s intense concentration which makes it increase. 

“I’m sorry guys, but you’ve lost this time.” Stiles slurs with an evil glint in his eyes. He places his cards on the table and spreads them. “Boom! Four of a kind.” 

Derek places his Full House down, annoyed. Derek has always been competitive and he downs his cocktail. Nicholas throws his head back in a fit of laughter. “It’s been a long time since Derek has been beat in _poker._ Well done Stiles.” Stiles stands and exaggeratedly bows as his father, Melissa and Scott claps. 

“Sorry, who lost again?” Malia counters, holding 5 cards with an evil smile. 

“A straight flush? What?!” Stiles exclaims, shocked. Malia fits into evil laughter, holding onto her waist as Stiles checks Malia’s cards. 

“Malia, calm down sweetie.” Peter comments, calmly placing his full house down. “Plus neither of you won.” He dramatically turns his neck to Colton, who’s observing everyone with an unreadable expression. 

Gingerly turning the cards in his hand, he uncovers his amazing feat. “A royal flush?!” Stiles exclaims in rejection. “What?! That’s blasphemy!” Colton sits there with a smile, pride booming from the bottom of his chest.

Both Stiles and Malia go for the cards in great denial, making sure they aren’t being deceived. 

“Colton you were fired up huh.” Xavier compliments his brother, giving him a fat congratulatory kiss on the cheek. Colton wipes his cheek as Xavier turns away.

“Wanna partner up to defeat the last boss?” Stiles questions, holding the cards in his hand. 

“Definitely.” Malia replies, shaking hands with him, confirming a business deal. 

Peter, Nicholas and Donovan laugh as they watch the new partnership, sitting at the edge of the table together and sharing intel.

“Derek.” Colton calls, “Team up with me too?” Derek smiles. His smile is bright to his cousin. “Sure.” 

The four play Blackjack in teams, a game against the dealer yet somehow they’re competing with each other. Both Derek and Colton can card count and they both know Malia can too, she’s only good at math for gambling for some reason, but somehow they both know Stiles can care count too. Donovan is a really skilled dealer, no accidents with cards showing even a little bit or taking too many out. 

The room is intense, both Stiles and Malia barely speaking to each other and not speaking over the other at all. Wow, they’ve clicked really well. _Especially for gambling._

Halfway in, Stiles and Malia have more chips than Derek and Colton, everyone else watching in anticipation as Colton changes his form and leans forward, tucking his long hair behind his ears. _Damn he’s really serious_. 

Derek becomes more competitive, not speaking as Malia will hear them. Derek knows everyone’s been using their heightened werewolf senses to play and the fact that Stiles still beat them at one of the games is pretty amazing. But no more admiration he tells himself, he can’t let Colton down. 

Nearly an hour in, Rosie has kissed everyone goodnight and headed to bed with Granny Irma. Xavier and Esme have won against Nicholas and Talia in pool twice and the latter has won twice more than the cousin’s duo best score, now all just sitting with drinks and chattering. Laura, Cora and Scott retreated back upstairs to watch a film with popcorn and Mountain Dew, finding a gambling match that lasts this long a tad bit too boring. Melissa and the Sheriff are munching into a cheesecake with Peter, complimenting the dessert at how delicious it is. Derek can hear them in the corner of his mind. 

“My wife made it. It’s a shame she couldn’t make it tonight.”

“It is a shame,” the Sheriff sighs, taking another generous bite off the two legged fork, “I can’t tell her in person just how delicious this is.” He continues, making embarrassing noises. Melissa giggles and elbows the man, shushing him. Suddenly, they all turn to the casino table at Malia’s loud voice.

“I can’t believe this…” 

Colton and Derek sit there with faces that display “Deal with it” and an amazing amount of chips in front of them. Derek teaming up with Colton, both fired up too with immense concentration, is the worst combination you can compete against. Also since the teams aren’t spread out in a casino they aren’t disadvantaged from having to act like they don’t know each other, which is more likely to blow their cover more than card counting from how bad their acting skills are. Seriously, Derek’s audition for a school role at school when he was 8 was having a seizure after being struck from lightning. Let’s just say he got the role he auditioned with. 

Both Malia and Stiles sit there in disbelief, staring at Colton and Derek like they’re monsters. Well, technically they are. 

“Monsters I tell you. Monsters.” Stiles whispers to Malia, making Derek, Colton and Esme still. All three had a bad experience with the word. They shake it off, but the word lingers in his mind. 

Those are the words Kate said as she got someone to mountain ash the old Hale mansion, calling Derek and his pack monsters. He knows that’s not what Stiles meant but fuck, hearing being called that hurts way more than he thought. 

“ONE MORE.” Malia shouts, glaring at Colton. 

“Okay now now it is late. I think everyone is tired Malia.” Donovan interrupts, already packing the cards, fake money and chips.

“But-”

“Malia.” Peter warns from the other side of the room. 

“Why don’t you kids go join the others upstairs as we talk for a bit?” Nicholas says, standing with the sheriff and Melissa already. Stiles’ father sends him a knowing and warning look as he goes, Talia mirroring it with more intense and a flash of crimson to Derek. 

All the adults leave, including Laura who’s come down from upstairs. 

With a heavy sigh, Esme grabs her sister’s wrist to drag her up the twirled staircase. Stiles follows closely behind, chattering with Malia about strategies at Poker and other gambling games and with Xavier’s arms around his brother and cousin leading them up with a smile. They pass the balcony area and through the wooden door there. 

“Woah.” Stiles stands there frozen, hand clasped over his mouth as Derek hangs his leather jacket on the coat hanger. 

It’s the ceilings are lower, coloured lights into the walls rather than chandeliers. On one side is an expensive gaming chair facing a desk of different screens, some larger than others. Where Cora is sitting is on a long cushioned black couch with layers of blankets and pillows on it, Scott sits on the floor against the black coffee table flooded with snacks watching “Winter Soldier”. The room is dark and filled with neon lights, a ping-pong table in the middle. There are pinball and arcade machines against the wall where Stiles has strolled over, admiring before he plays. 

Esme and Malia sit themselves next to Cora and immediately on each other, Xavier sitting on the floor next to Scott with his wide back against Malia’s legs, stealing a piece of popcorn from Scott’s bowl. Colton sits next to Esme and whips out his D.S, keeping to himself with music in his ears. Derek sits next to him, watching the movie silently until the scent he’s been trying to block out is suddenly right next to him. He’s shocked, he expected Stiles to sit next to Scott on the floor. 

He watches as Stiles lowers himself and kicks Scott on the thigh, pointing to the blanket and pillow next to him. The young McCall throws at him angrily, sticking his tongue out as Stiles says, “love you too!” 

Stiles leans back into the couch and sighs, closing his eyes deeply. Relaxed, he covers himself with the blanket and notices Derek. They stare into each other’s eyes for about two seconds until Stiles shoves half the blanket onto his lap. 

“Wanna share? You’re the only one without one.” 

And it’s true. Despite werewolves’ high body heat the rest are wrapped up in a blanket one way or another. Rejecting would just look weird right? 

“Okay.” Derek simply answers, putting the blanket over his lap and giving Stiles a small smile. The boy smiles back, grabbing some snacks off the table before completely wrapping himself in the other half of the blanket. 

“That coloured shit looks weird.” He comments, pointing to the Mountain Dew. 

“You’ve never tried them?” Derek questions. 

“Nope. Junk food wasn't allowed at school and I mostly ate fried, oily stuff out of school. I never really tried fizzy juice and I don’t like crisps.” 

“What’s your favourite food?”

“Korean fried chicken. Oh bloody hell my mouth is watering just from remembering it.” Stiles licks his lips, _slowly._

He almost forgets he got called ‘Der-bear” and a serial killer by the boy, _almost._

“Steak, pork ribs, those crispy curly fries, mash potato, roast potato, potatoes in general, lamb chops, basically any meat. Actually I don’t know.” He continues, “I like anything that tastes good.” Something about that comment and the way Stiles glances at him makes Derek want to lean closer to the boy. Instead, he tugs at the blanket and covers himself further, making Stiles himself move towards him as to not unwrap any blanket already tucked tight around him. 

Derek can feel his body heat closer now, can feel his heartbeat so close. He can smell the hint of hair dye and coffee, the overwhelming scent of spices that calm him. He relaxes, placing his arms next to his sides underneath the blanket and leans on Colton a little. His cousin lets him. 

“How about you?” Stiles asks him, turning to the man. Derek can see him properly now, not across the room, across a dining table, not next to him on the casino table. He can see him, right in front of his face. His eyes trace the moles on his cheek and all over his face to the eyebrows, from the bridge of his nose down to his Cupid’s bow and lips, up to his soft straight hair. Across the jawline and down his neck to the exposed collarbones, he can practically feel Stiles’ heartbeat in his chest and Derek has to remember to feel his own. He really shouldn’t have said yes to sharing a blanket. 

“I like meat.” He replies with urgency, “um, all kinds.” He ignores Cora and Esme snicker. 

“Great, me too.” They're silent for a while, just watching the film and laughing at Xavier’s commentary. Stiles opens his mouth a few times to speak but closes it again. 

“Do you want to join Xavier’s commentary?” Derek absentmindedly asks. 

“If I do I won’t stop speaking so I’m kind of restraining myself to do so.” Stiles whispers. 

Derek whispers back, “Please, we’ve seen this a million times.” 

“Trust me, once I start I don’t stop.” He looks at Derek. Again, he’s doing that thing, _again._

Derek doesn’t know if he’s just crazy and the glances don’t mean anything or he’s actually being blatantly flirted with, either way Derek doesn’t really care… okay he does a little but he has way too much emotional trauma to accept he’s attracted immensely by another human, _again._

_God what did he do to be in this position again?_

Plus the boy is supposed to be being watched over! On high alert! Around the middle of the blackjack game, most hawk eyes by the adults dropped which led most of everyone else to do so. Now everyone in the room is so relaxed with him, Xavier even leaning over to tap his knee to get his attention and Colton asking Stiles if he wants to see his book collection some time. Like no one ever sees his book collection apart from Rosie and Peter, even pushing Derek away and he’s the boy’s most trusted cousin. He’s saddened a bit, but feels immensely happy when Colt invites him too. Derek’s heard of the boy’s wide variety of books, some books being really hard to get a copy of. Derek’s glad he’s being led into Colton’s world a little more. 

Derek wonders at how easily Stiles seems to fit in here. How natural he looks sitting on their couch sharing a blanket with him and kicking Scott every other second, bickering with Xavier and sharing knowing looks with Malia. Laughing with Cora and Esme, whispering to Derek every now and then like they’re close. 

Derek is both scared and worried, but as he blinks his eyes open by Colt tapping his shoulder next to him, some of it washes away as he looks around the room. The girls have drifted off, leaning on each other and sleeping peacefully, Xavier is nowhere to be found and Scott is laid out across the floor scratching his belly. 

More importantly, Stiles is leaning on him asleep. As in head on his shoulder and the side of his body pressed up right against him, their knees touching and left arm across Derek’s right leg. Derek inwardly panics, a lot more than his standard amount of about 56%.

“Wha-what time is it?” 

“Nearly 12. I went to check on everyone else when you guys fell asleep. Laura’s asleep in her room and the adults are in the lounge talking and drinking. The sheriff’s drunk little so he won’t be driving anytime soon.” He looks at Stiles' face, “He looks peaceful.” 

Derek cranes his neck down on Stiles’ face slowly and back to Colton’s, body unmoving. “Where’s Xavier?” The Avengers is still on and there’s popcorn all over Scott’s chest. 

“I don’t know.” Colton starts picking up the fallen popcorn and places them into a bag. He swiftly cleans up the table and grabs the leftover snacks quietly. 

“I’m going to my room. Goodnight Derek.” He quickly leaves after that, softly shutting the door behind him. 

Derek lets a sigh leave his chest, closing his eyes as the heat from the body next to him coats over him like a blanket. He reaches into his pocket and texts Kira. 

**Keer**

**Kira**

**Kira I know you’re awake**

  
  


**u just interrupted me beating my meat**

  
  


**Don’t ever say that again.**

  
  


**what? can’t handle the truth derry? like**

**how much u’ve been drooling over Stiles?**

  
  


**What**

**ur sister filled me in**

  
  


**Of course she did**

**What else did she say?**

  
  


**that u lost to malia, colt AND**

**stiles in poker**

**worst defeat u’ve ever had**

**wish I could’ve seen it myself**

**Ha funny**

**so stiles… u guys getting along??**

  
  


Derek looks over at the sleeping Stiles pressed against his side, the boy’s head all comfortable on Derek’s shoulder. 

  
  


**I guess**

**fuck wHAT**

**U’RE DOING MORE THAN JUZT**

**‘GETTING ALONG’ AREN’T YOU**

**HDJDDJDJDDJ**

**?**

**No**

**im joking**

**cora already sent pics of stiles**

**all cuddled up against you ;)**

**Fuck**

**They just don’t let me live do they**

**when will they ever**

**y’all cute tho <3**

**You act as if that cancels out**

**the fact that Cora took pics of**

**Stiles without his consent**

**it doesn’t?**

**No Kira, it doesn’t.**

**anyways what’s the problem?**

**you guys are still observing right?**

**what observer doesn’t take**

**pictures of their obersvee??**

  
  


**Everyone Kira. Or it’s called stalking**

**oh**

**What do you mean ‘oh’?**

**i mean oh**

**Kira…**

**okay okay just don’t be mad! promise!**

**Depends**

**not reassuring**

**Kira.**

  
  


**okay SO l may have observed stiles**

**throughout the week**

**You what.**

**andtakenlotsofpictures**

**So you stalked him.**

  
  


**well if we talk about the technical terms…**

**KIRA**

**okay u just shouted at me thru text wth**

  
  


**Why would you do that?!**

**i was worried ! for you !! i can tell**

**it was driving u nuts n I just wanted**

**to reassure u he wasn’t**

**anything dangerous !!!**

  
  


**What if he was? What if he**

**found out and hurt you Kira?**

**Did you even stop to think that?**

  
  


**i would’ve been fine**

**You don’t know that!**

  
  


**no I do**

**because I made sure he wouldn’t notice me**

**i’ve been very careful derek**

**im not stupid**

**i knew the risks.**

**Still Keer**

**I can’t lose you**

**im sorry derry**

**i shouldn’t have done it**

**especially not even telling u**

**but honestly im glad I did**

**derry there’s something u need to see**

  
  


At that exact moment, Stiles groans and shifts, rubbing his face against Derek’s shoulder and keeping it there. Then he blinks his eyes open, the arm on his leg retreats, combing his fingers through the soft hair before turning to Derek with a bright grin. 

“Morning? Something tells me I’m not in my bedroom.” 

Derek locks his phone and shoves it back in his pocket as Stiles stretches, cracking his neck and cradling back into the blanket again, their bodies still close. Stiles looks perfect with his face flushed, messy hair and a messy loose thin blouse.

“Sorry for leaning on you.” He apologises, fiddling with his rings. 

“No it’s okay.” Derek replies.

The room is filled with silence, except for the breathing of his sister and cousins, and Scott’s snores. Derek bites his lips, preventing himself from saying anything stupid. 

“What time is it?” Stiles turns his face so that his cheek is pressed against the cushion, “Around 12 I think.” 

“Woah. My dad’s staying out this late?” Stiles looks at him with big eyes and yawns, staring at the TV playing the film instead. 

“Where’s Colton and Xavier?” He asks, peeling off the blanket and standing up, properly stretching this time without much care for the loud cracks and pops. 

“Colt’s gone to bed and Xavier disappeared somewhere.” Derek ignores the buzzing in his pocket. 

“He did look like someone who sneaks off by himself when everyone sleeps.” 

“Who? Xavier?”

“Yeah. I used to do it all the time so I get it.” 

“Do you still do?”

“Sometimes.” 

There’s silence again. 

Stiles scrambles through his pocket looking for something. 

“What is it?” Derek asks to fill the void. 

“My phone. Must’ve left it where I left my sweater.” 

“Wanna go look for it?” Derek doesn’t know why he asked, just felt like he needed to. 

“And sneak off as everyone else sleeps? Definitely.” Derek smiles a little to himself, before taking the blanket off and placing it over Scott’s exposed tummy. His stomach flutters at the sound of Stiles’ giggles. 

After turning the TV off, together they set off and walked down the staircase, scanning the empty game room. Stiles’ fashionable outfit that screams his individuality is a big contrast to Derek’s plain henleys and jeans that he mostly wears everyday. Oh and the leather jackets that apparently make him look like a serial killer. Which is the same one he’s holding in his arms right now. 

Derek watches as Stiles walks over where he remembers dropping his sweater at, a couch nearest the door exit to the halls. There’s nothing on it so he searches the sides and finds his phone and behind it his sweater. “Found them!” He looks through his phone for a second before shoving it in his pocket. 

“That was a quick check.” Derek can’t stop himself from making weird comments now can’t he? 

“I only have four contacts. My dad, Scott, Melissa and my grandma, so yes it’s quick. My grandma did shoot me a quick text in polish reminding me that you have to be 21 to drink in America though.” He chuckles. “Not that it's gonna stop me.” He adds with a wink. And without a doubt Derek knows it won’t stop him at all. 

“How about your friends from your old school?” 

“No signal there remember? So many don't bother with bringing any electronic devices. I left in the middle of school term and the only friend who remembered their phone number wrote it down on a piece of paper which I somehow lost. So that totally defeats the purpose.” He scoffs, skipping over at the bar and delicately sliding his fingers along the glass bottles’ sides and glass corks of expensive alcohol. 

“Your mansion is beautiful.” 

“My _home_ really is.” Derek corrects him and Stiles gives him a glimmering smile. 

“Now, any water I can drink from your beautiful home?” He requests, venturing out of the game room with Derek close behind, a small grin on his lips. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Keer**

  
  
  


**come to my house tomorrow**

**derry?**

**i think he knew matt.**

  
  
  
  
  
  


—

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A FEW EXPLANATIONS!:
> 
> •Thomas and Lance obviously can’t protect themselves at all so as a precaution Jennifer is taking care of them for the night. 
> 
> •Kira and Derek are strictly only best friends and are very open with each other. So when Derek mentions how he just remembers how open Kira is to him, he means at how she didn’t fail to mention that her vagina throbbed for an endearment. 
> 
> Kira also knows Derek is bisexual. When she asks “how come I didn’t know that?” She’s referring to how come she didn’t know Derek had trouble figuring out his sexuality and how much his mother helped him immensely. Basically Derek being Derek he just went up to Kira as an afterthought: “Oh I’m bisexual.” And she nodded and they went of to do something stupid. 
> 
> •Stiles having lived most his life in a british school, he started drinking early like everyone else. At 14 his mother allowed for him to have a small glass of wine to accompany his meals, so that Stiles never rebels with a severe drinking stage most teenagers who’s been denied it all their life have. At school, he and his friends get proper waisted on very small occasions when they had free time. The sheriff knows of the UK’s drinking laws and allows Stiles to drink with a very stern limit and only if he’s in the room. Stiles is very responsible when he drinks, especially after how much his father drank when his mother died. The Hales dinner was the first he’s even had a sip since his mother died. 
> 
> •A clarification! It is true a lot of Asians love Baccarat, as it mostly has a 8-1 tie payout and most Asians find the number ‘8’ lucky, but Stiles’ friends’ family especially likes it. They taught Stiles how to play mahjong and pai gow from an early age and never using real money, always telling Stiles that a casino is a place he should never venture into so don’t worry, it’s basically been hardwired into Stiles’ brain to STAY CLEAR!
> 
> •To summarise, Mini-Baccarat is a betting game that bets on either the player or banker (the dealer) or on a tie on which pair of cards pulled from the shoe for each player or banker has the closest number to 9. In some casinos, Bankers have a slight edge so you have more of a chance that you’ll win from betting on them, so you have to pay a 5% commission if it’s bet on (meaning you basically give 5% more on that bet) and they’re basically milking you for more money lol. Stiles asked Donovan if he needs to pay more to bet on the banker in which Donovan says “no”. The banker and player always has a 50/50. 
> 
> Ties will basically either make you lose lots of money or earn a lot of it. By betting on a tie and winning from a 8-1 payout, you turn your £20 into £160 plus the £20 that you used to bet. Stiles betted on a tie and when both pairs of cards add up to 0, you get a 50-1 payout. You can also bet if specifically the player or banker card pair is a tie on it’s own, resulting in an 11-1 payout. So basically Stiles beat like thousands of odds and did the impossible. 
> 
> If any information about this is wrong please do inform me in the comments so I can correct it. Thank you. (I kind of explained it from the top of my head bare with me). 
> 
> •With Poker it’s easier to understand in my opinion when you’ve won as you’re against the others on the same table. In Poker, the hand rankings is this:  
> 1)Royal flush (A,K,Q,J,10 all in the same suit)  
> 2)Straight flush (five cards in sequence, all same suit)  
> 3)Four of a kind (All four cards of the same rank)  
> 4)Full house (Three of a kind with a pair)
> 
> And it goes on. I Only added these as these are the only ones mentioned in this chapter.  
> To clarify in the family Derek is best in Poker in terms of skill right along with his Uncle Peter, but he didn’t play seriously as he usually does with his dad, uncles and other middle aged men from the other packs. He also didn’t expect Colton to play properly and for Malia to be so fired up (all because of Stiles lol) so he was annoyed with himself. Well, he won’t be laid back anymore that’s for sure. 
> 
> •IM SO HAPPY I finally got to post a Derek and Stiles moment. Even if it was small and all they did is touch knees, share a blanket and Stiles with his head on Derek’s shoulder, it’s actually a lot considering how opposed Derek was for the whole thing in the beginning. He’s starting to warm up to the boy pretty soon. 
> 
> Oh and what did Kira see? HEHEHEHBE
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING ILY <3


	4. Matty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns there’s more to the world he knows.
> 
> Stiles meets one of the people that‘ll greatly impact him for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! SLIGHT DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE !! 
> 
> This chapter is a little late because I had trouble with structure until I realised I needed to open Stiles’ world a little more, make him feel. 
> 
> Enjoy .

Nothing is better than munching on greasy, oily food during a bad mood to lift one spirit’s up. However, as Stiles noms on the pizza he’s ordered, he finds he’s not really up for it much. He remembers the amazing korean bbq his friend took him once when they were in South Korea, making Stiles’ stomach growl. 

Knowing he needs time for himself and from everything else in this town, he quickly dresses into a printed tee and thick cotton with the hood up that makes him feel like he’s being shielded away from the world. He doesn’t wear any jewellery except for a few bland rings and slips on a pair of gray converse he never really wears. He then writes his dad a little post-it note of his short disappearance and places it on his desk. 

Walking out of the house, he can feel the protective layer of protection still intact all over Beacon Hills. It’s strong, pure magic that connects straight from the ley lines; Stiles has given up on finding the Nemeton without magic. He suspects the barrier has protected the town for generations, meaning at least two magical creatures live in the town to regularly make sure there are no magical threats. He’s not stupid, he’s felt the Druidic magic upon meeting Alan Deaton, Scott’s boss at the vet clinic, and was afraid he’ll be discovered too. However, the long term concealment charm etched on his beaded baby blue anklet has been working perfectly, disguising the  _ danger  _ feeling other supernaturals will feel as a momentary slip and soon they forget they felt anything in the first place. Rather convenient when your best friend and his trainer’s family are all of lycanthropy. 

Oh yes, Stiles  _ knows.  _ He wonders how Scott has survived this long without being found out, the boy is insufferably terrible at keeping secrets. Not only did he sniff and growl without much care for the world, his eyes glowing a bright yellow around his iris during his sobbing event. He also didn’t miss Melissa very creepily watching them sleep his first night back, as if Scott could be in danger at any moment. He wondered why Melissa wouldn’t just poke the teenager awake and take him home, but that confusion was answered with Scott’s deathly grip on his arm as they slept, refusing to let the returner leave his side. If Stiles was a regular human he proposes his arm would’ve snapped in half inside the boy’s hand, though it does to show how much he really missed his best friend. Stiles stroked his hair in response, after Melissa deemed it was safe and left in the middle of the night. 

First he was angry, in denial even, someone had turned his best friend half wolf! But then it all washes away watching the boy twist and turn on the field, scooping the ball and running without a single worry for his asthma inhaler. Scott obviously is so much happier now, stronger, faster and  _ healthier.  _ He couldn’t find it in him to be angry, especially knowing the big possibility that Scott asked for the bite in the first place. That he’s also probably being taken care of and taught as to not endanger anyone else around him. 

With Scott disappearing many times throughout the week for ‘training’ Stiles suspectes the Hales are the pack Scott has joined. It’s a bit crazy to think that the Derek in his childhood memories is probably a born Werewolf, but as he thought of it more he somehow understood. From what he knows of the Hales, they’re the richest family they know in town and lived on these lands for a long time, they helped  _ build  _ the place. He wouldn’t put it past him that the protectors of this land are the Hales. 

After a few hours of research, he couldn’t place a finger on it. As much as he thought about it, the Hales are like aristocrats, royalty even, to the rest of the Were community. What benefits would they have from their alpha giving Scott the bite? There’s completely nothing advantageous about biting the teenager, except for the fact that their numbers will increase. Is that what they need? More werewolves in the pack? Somehow that too didn’t make sense, the Hale pack are a big family: The immediate family are already a big 16 members. Stiles doesn’t even want to imagine how many relatives they have crawling all over the world, or those hiding away from peering eyes. 

Is it bait? Will they have use for Scott later? As praised as they are for their noble acts, he has no doubt they will do  _ anything  _ to protect the safety of the town, even increasing their numbers for more battle warriors. They’re one of the biggest pack influencers of the Americas, probably the whole world, what battle are they preparing for- already fighting? 

Stiles pondered many possibilities as he walked over to his jeep and slipped in, closing the door with a low thud before hooking his key in and turning the engine on. Firstly, he needs to get out of Hale territory before using any magic, to not alert them of his presence. He doubts they’ll find any trace of him once he’s gone however he can not allow himself to take risks. Risks must be avoided at all costs. 

Riding out of town as dawn nears, his mind slips into the events of the night before. Their swift, natural interrogation at the dinner table, how uncomfortable everyone looked when he asked of the absence of Scott’s inhaler, how much they tried to separate him and his dad in conversations as to squeeze as much information they can out of them, the glares on his back every time he turned… they’re deciding if Stiles is a threat. Or would be. He has no doubt dinner last night at the Hales Mansion would be his last. 

He wonders if it’s standard procedure, inviting a new person into Beacon Hills for dinner, making sure he’s not the danger to break everyone’s peace. Or it’s because he’s specifically very close to a werewolf in their pack. He decides on the latter, as small the town is he doubts the pack would let random strangers into their home all the time; they weirdly all seem very private. Donovan probably spends more time dealing in his casino table than venturing outside. 

They all seemed very nice people, Stiles decides. Even if they did  _ coax  _ his father into drinking, he knows they have no idea of his father’s previous drunkenly habits. He’s more furious with his father, the man who gave in knowing what alcohol does to him. How dangerous it is. Once Stiles had walked into the lounge with laughing adults, his father twirling the whiskey at hand, he almost blew up the room. Then he almost lunged at his dad and beat the living daylights out of him in anger. Instead, he had put a complacent smile on his face and called for his father to get home. 

The ride home was completely silent. His father, though tipsy, can feel the air cut when he even just  _ breathed.  _ He knows one eyebrow twitch and he’ll succumb to the horrific anger of his son. So he simply stayed still, watching the grip of Stiles’ fists on the wheel turn pale white. 

Once home, Stiles walked into his room, pretending the sheriff simply didn’t exist, and slammed his bedroom door shut. He needs to calm down. To not let the extreme anger consume him and possibly kill his own father. He focused on his rings, tracing his finger along the twirls and frame, letting the memory of the words said by his guardian repeat over and over in his head in her soft voice. 

_ “You’ll experience extreme happiness. Extreme longing. Extreme jealousy. You’ll experience emotions people never do all their life. And your magic will explode. You need to control it.” _

He thought he controlled it, his magic. He hasn’t been almost as angry since his mother died. As if all he felt that should’ve been intense sorrow for a loved one’s death all transferred to pure anger. He was anger, the pure essence of it, for weeks. That was the first time he truly felt so lost of control over himself, over his emotions. He’s tried so hard to control what he felt. What was the point of taking away grief when they left him to feel everything else? Everything else, just  _ way worse?  _

Though this anger and the one for his mother’s are like the earth and sky apart, it’s still an extreme he hasn’t felt in a while. And frankly, he doesn’t want to kill due to the loss of control. Never again. 

After repeating his paragraph like a mantra, he walked down in a much more calmed state. Soon, he and his father were shouting at each other, screaming and ripping each other with their words. He hoped he could settle the matter calmly but as soon as his father asked him what was wrong, he couldn’t take it anymore. Actually he’s glad the light didn’t explode and a piece of glass didn’t stab his father in the eye. 

They parted with a bitter taste left in their mouth and hours later Stiles is still pretty much angry. Though more in his thinking mode with an underlying tone of anger. He’s glad he’s stopped shaking. Shaking his head, he turns his thoughts away from their argument from the previous night and more so on the safety of his best friend. Not to mention the weird girl that he noticed that’s been following him around since Wednesday, which he recognised on Derek’s wallpaper where they sat pressed against each other on the sofa. 

He smiles a little. The Hale mansion was a lot more homely than he thought and you can tell with a glance how close the pack is. The food was  _ absolutely delicious  _ and Scott and his mother seemed very comfortable in their home. He wonders if Scott is in their plans, if he knows what they can possibly do with him. 

He really hopes Scott isn’t in any danger with the Hales, he doesn’t really want to kill the family that gave him the taste of the best mash potato he’s ever tasted. 

  
  
  


Driving up a hill miles away from Beacon Hills, he parks it as he approaches a clearing into the woods. The kind of woods people use for camping and hikes. Quickly listening,  _ feeling  _ for anyone’s presence near as the sun shines brightly on his skin. With the safety of being utter alone, he waves his hand and mutters a quick illusion spell to deceive others that his amazing jeep is merely a plain huge rock -which he apologises to his baby for- and levitating it to hide behind bushes not that far into the woods. 

Strolling into the bundle of Mother Nature, he breathes in the cool air and chuckles to the morning sounds of crickets. Once he finds a good spot where he won’t be spotted from standing at the edge of the woods, he focuses on the soft hum of his chest, feeling his whole body throb and the tattoos on his back and waist burn a little. He closes his eyes, envisioning the corner little alleyway he remembers well and when he opens them, he’s staring at the loud bustles and crowds of a late Sunday night. 

Seoul is just as beautiful as he remembers, especially at night. Emerging from the alley and walking down the hill, he scans the bright lights and the buzz of the main road. Street food stalls placed by the pavement, clubs open with loud electronic music and korean rap, restaurants lit up with chatter, he breathes it all in, feeling himself release his tension from his shoulders. 

Not wanting to eat korean bbq by himself, he looks for a way to gain free food. It’s at night with a lot of drunken people despite it being a weekday the next day, and so he darts around for an opportunity. 

20 minutes later, he’s still looking. Everyone’s group is tight and compact, obviously not looking for another to join. Also probably because he hasn’t exactly met with anyone’s eyes. Turning around, he thinks of conjuring fake money when he spots it. 

There, gobsmacked in the middle of the road, an elderly tries to cross the road with a truck riding straight for her with no intention to stop. She notices, trying to move faster in fear, her old and tired muscles failing her. Some watch, probably waiting for the impact, knowing it is way too late even if they reach and grab for the woman.

Stiles isn’t a saviour. He’s a practicalist, a realist. Hero complexes and people who think they can save everyone deeply annoy him. Makes him want to cut his ears and scoop his eyeballs out. But watching that woman, hurrying to live, so old and so fragile, something awakens in him. Something that isn’t just “protect” but to  _ save  _ as well. 

Pushing the people away from him, he bolts for the woman, reaching out desperately from behind and snaking his arm across her face to shield it. He grips his arms tightly around the elder, using his back to cleanly impact the floor as they roll together hitting the side of the pavement. The truck flies past them, rapidly turning and crushing into a steel pole, taking several people who stood there with it as they lay crashed and bloodied underneath. 

  
  
  


Once the paramedics have confirmed he doesn’t have any fatal injuries, they tell him to go to the station to give a statement for the truck accident. He’s not surprised, several people have just died. 

Everyone else crowded around the shambles of the vehicle, moving along rapidly as soon as the corpses are pulled out and observed. Police have taped the area and the sirens of even more ambulances echoed throughout the night. 

As he’s about to slip away, not exactly wanting to go through procedures of them discovering he doesn’t live in the country or gone through normal legal means to visit, someone taps his arm. Turning with annoyance, it quickly rushes away, meeting the very person he saved earlier. 

She’s a much shorter woman, grey and white locks tied tightly in a bun behind her. Her face is littered with wrinkles. She wears a big brown blouse, a cotton zipped up vest over her with matching trousers. She notices his appearance, eyes widening in shock. Oh,  _ my hood’s down.  _

“Hel-lo?” She questions, in a thick korean accent. 

“Uh, you know me?” She raises a brow, hesitant and nervous. Stiles warmly smiles at her, speaking in fluent korean. 

_ “I understand korean.”  _ She visibly relaxes, throwing her head back and laughing. 

“ _ Ehhh you scared me! I Thought I had to use words I haven’t said since I went to school.”  _ She cackles, throwing her head back again.  _ “I’m Soomin.” _

“ _ Thank you for saving me, child. You did a very brave thing.”  _ She smiles warmly, opening her arms, “ _ Ah come here and let me hug my saviour!”  _

Stiles awkwardly leans down, letting the petite woman hug into his chest and pulling away. He nods, noticing how many more police cars are here now and needing to slip away. She grabs on his hoodie. 

“ _ Let me treat you to something child. As a thank you for saving my life.”  _ Stiles is about to rightly refuse, when he notices the sheer determination in her eyes and the desperate grip on his jacket. He darts his pupils to the other police, just wanting to leave the scene quickly. 

“Okay.” 

  
  
  


When the lady said “treat” he thought free meals, free snacks, even maybe free money. What he didn’t expect was the elder leading him to her house, a two story family home in a semi-loud street not too far away from the chaos down at the main road. He’s quite shocked such a peaceful looking neighbourhood is so close to the eruption of energies 24/7 just 15 minutes away. 

She opens the door and beckons him in, an explosion of smells hit them at all once. Stiles’ mouth immediately waters, following Soomin and taking his shoes off to carefully place near the door. They walk through the hall and into a room with a medium-sized kitchen on the side, a TV on the other, and a dining table full of food and seated persons next to it right smack in the middle. 

Stiles notices the marinated marble meat on a plate, the charcoal grill built into the table and meat sizzling on top of it, and god does he just want to pounce and gobble everything up. 

“ _ Ah what a smell!”  _ Everyone turns their attention from the food and TV to them, immediately exclaiming in happiness to stand and hug the elder. There’s a middle aged woman with saucers for eyes completely still in the kitchen. A girl around highschool and a smaller one that’s the same height as Rosie greet the elder, giving her a big hug. 

Everyone else, including the middle aged man and another boy who seems to be in highschool, give her a greeting hug. “ _ Grandma!” _

They look at Stiles and Soomin with questioning looks, the highschool boy speaks first. “ _ Did you bring your boyfriend home Grandma?”  _

_ “A foreigner! I knew that was her type.” _ The other highschool girl says. They look similar, way more than the others.  _ Probably twins.  _ Soomin turns to the kitchen, addressing from the lady to the confused man, then to the child and twins. “ _ Eunsoo, Jihwon, Minji, Seohyeon and Dohyeon, meet my saviour. Saviour, them.”  _ She turns, ignoring the shocker expressions and seating herself across from the boy twin. He follows awkwardly, sitting next to her and right in front of plenty of amazing side dishes he wants to nimble on as soon as possible. 

Eunsoo finishes up in the kitchen and brings over more marinated meat and mushrooms, sitting herself with an annoyed expression. “ _ Mum what are you doing bringing a stranger here?”  _ She demands, acting as if he can’t hear her. 

_ “Is that how you speak to the person who saved your mother’s life? Ungrateful little shit.”  _ Stiles winces at the swear word, not exactly expecting the sweet warm lady to swear so nonchalantly. They bicker in a string of curses and Eunsoo referring to Stiles in names that’s a bit well… not very nice. The girl twin, Seohyeon, speaks. 

“Hello. What’s your name?” She questions, barely an accent to her voice. 

“Stiles.” He simply replies. 

“Stiles, please do eat.” The middle aged man, Jihwon says, his accent sounding English. He complies, picking the chopsticks that’s been set for him and hungrily going for a piece of pork belly. 

“Where are you from?” The boy twin, Dohyeon, has a heavier accent than the two but nowhere near as heavy as their grandma Soomin’s. 

“I’ve just returned to Korea.” 

“ _ Do you know how to speak korean?”  _ Sohyeon asks, munching on some kimchi. 

“ _ Yes. I grew up here but I’ve been away to attend school in England and I came back yesterday.”  _ He lies, plopping some rice into his mouth. He tries to not moan at how amazing the  _ galbi _ is, swallowing some pickled radish instead. 

“ _ This child saved my life! A truck almost hit me! And he jumped in and saved me!”  _ Soomin turns to him, “ _ Eat all you want! This is my thank you.”  _

“ _ Really?!”  _ Minji excitedly stands, “ _ Cool! Seriously!”  _

Stiles laughs, enjoying the girl’s excitement. “ _ So you’re not grandma’s boyfriend?”  _ Dohyeon teases, lowering the TV’s volume. Seohyeon slaps his arm. It’s weird, it’s like staring at him and Scott interact. 

“Thank you,  _ for saving her. That was very brave of you.” _

_ “Thank you very much.”  _ Both the parents say, with so much sincerity it makes Stiles squirm a little. 

“ _ You’re welcome.”  _ He replies with a sheepish smile. 

“ _ Come! Let’s eat.”  _ Eunsoo says with a warm smile, a big contrast to the scowl directed at him just 5 minutes earlier. 

Once dinner was over Minji was sent to bed, as Dohyeon and Seohyeon sat quietly in the living room on the floor, working on some school work. Jihwon headed to bed early as he had to rise at practically dawn for work as Stiles, Eunsoo and her mother sat on her couch with warm tea in their hands. 

Luckily the twins both have music plugged in their ears as the three chat. 

“ _ How old are you Stiles?”  _ Eunsoo questions. 

“ _ 18.”  _ He lies. 

“ _ So you’ve finished high school already?”  _

_ “Yes.”  _ Well  _ technically _ yes. 

“ _ Which part of England did you stay? My husband’s English.”  _ She adds. 

“ _ Kent.”  _ He has never been to Kent. 

“ _ That’s nice. You miss it?”  _

“ _ Yes.”  _ He answers honestly for the first time, thinking of Mierdo, the gardens, the hills, his favourite stream and waterfall, his friends, his teachers and the library. 

“ _ What do your parents work-“ _

_ “Stop with so many questions. You’re disturbing our guest.”  _ Soomin interrupts. 

_ “It’s okay.”  _ He reassures her, “ _ My dad’s a police officer and my mum’s dead.”  _ He nonchalantly says. The room immediately freezes. Stiles doesn’t notice the twins with an ear bud out. 

“ _ I’m sorry.”  _

_ “No it’s okay. Really.”  _ He doesn’t miss Soomin glaring daggers at her daughter. 

“ _ Is that why you tried running away from the police?”  _ Soomin questions, “ _ Your father.”  _ That got him curious gazes.

“ _ My father and I argued. I wasn’t allowed out tonight.”  _ There’s a silence that washes over them, which Seohyeon thankfully saves him from. 

“ _ You finished high school right? Were you good?”  _ Stiles grins, “ _ Come help Dohyeon. _ He’s been on the same problem for 20 minutes.” Stiles cackles as Dohyeon starts arguing with her, talking about how he has been ‘double checking’. 

  
  


Just as he’s thanking everyone for the great night and waving his goodbyes an hour later, Soomin takes out a jacket and follows him out. “ _ I’ll walk him to the bus stop.”  _

_ “You can’t. It’s nearly 11, at night! Are you crazy?!”  _ Her daughter counters. She ignores her, walking off quickly without a glance back. He hurries after her, giving Eunsoo an apologetic look and a wave. 

Once he’s caught up to her they walk side by side in silence. She leads him to a food stall, getting a few fish cakes soup and silently handing some to him. They sit in an empty busy stop, watching the bustles of the night street life while munching on the snack. 

“ _ Your charm, a very talented witch made it.”  _

Stiles freezes. He blinks, slowly looking over with fright. She doesn’t look, staring off as she tears off a bit off the stick and chews. Swallowing, she speaks again. “ _ What are you doing here young Spark?”  _

“ _ You’re… a witch?”  _ He had no idea. None at all. He hadn’t detected any magic. It kind of frustrates him, out of everyone at the academy he was the most sensitive to magic. He could feel it miles away, giving him a buzz. 

“ _ A very old one. I can not be killed by magic yet one hit by that truck would’ve burst my magic into fumes and killed the whole neighbourhood- at least.”  _

Stiles can’t believe it, her magic would explode and kill everyone if she died? Yet she risks everyday crossing roads knowing any time because of her people will die? 

“ _ That is if I get hit.”  _ She places the paper pot of hot soup and fish cakes on the side and lifts the trousers on her left leg slowly. There, all the way from the ankle to her knee are ancient insignia and sigils that Stiles has never seen before, tattooed in black ink. Curves, lines and characters of a language he can’t grasp. 

“ _ I have this all over my body. At any point I am in danger, I am brought to a safe location.”  _

_ “Teleport…?”  _

_ “No. I am no sorcerer.”  _ She drops the trouser sleeve and goes back to her fish cake, “ _ These charms are here so that I do not die. If I do, I will bring many lives with me.”  _ She longingly looks at her paper pot, “ _ It is a burden I can only bear myself.”  _

Stiles bites his lower lip, “ _ That’s not all of it is it?”  _

She grins.  _ “Just like I am, you will have many burdens that only you can bear. A spark is a lonely road.” _

_ Silence. _

_ “How did you know?”  _

She scoffs, “ _ Your magic can only be concealed by so much. It is bright, electrifying,  _ **_alive_ ** _. Don’t worry, those who notice already know.”  _

_ “What does that-”  _ She stands, chucking the empty pot into the rubbish bin interrupting him. She stands in front of him as he looks up, twirling the last fish cake around the soup. 

“ _ You didn’t answer my question spark.”  _ For a moment, faster than a single second, she didn’t look so old and tired. Her hair turned raven black, her cheeks tightened showcasing deep dimples, wrinkles on her forehead ceased and the crinkles in her eyes disappeared. He swears her iris glowed silver. 

“ _ What am I doing here? I wanted to eat-” _

_ She halts him quickly, “What are you doing  _ **_here_ ** _?”  _ He stares at her blinking, confused. He doesn’t know what she means. And he  _ hates  _ not knowing. 

“ _ You should go. Your father is waiting for you.”  _ She smiles, “ _ Come visit me in the future.”  _ She turns and walks behind the behind stop, disappearing right in front of his eyes. He angrily chews on the last fish cake as he makes his way home. 

  
  


When he’s returned to the blinding morning light of Northern California, he notices he still has the paper pot full of soup leftover by the fish cakes. About to throw it into the bushes, he feels a bit bad and clutches it in his hand instead. He walks through the woods, questions swirling in his mind. 

That must’ve been a very talented and old witch he concludes. The witch was telling him that she would’ve been safe; the truck wasn’t averting her, people weren’t standing by idly, they probably  _ couldn’t  _ see her. Didn’t notice her presence. Great, the person he saved in South Korea coincidentally was a high and powerful supernatural. And her magic is so powerful it will take lives if it is not consumed in her body. Oh and people died because of him. Well that isn’t burdensome, certainly not. 

Fishing his phone out his pocket, he turns it back on and shoves it back, looking for his baby. Once at the clearing, he clicks his fingers and a gigantic rock lands shakingly in front of him. With a wave, the illusion cancels. 

It’s 7am once he walks back into the house, three hours has gone by when he finds his father munching on some oatmeal in the kitchen. His father looks up, then returns to the food he’s trying hard to swallow. Stiles stares before sitting down. 

“I found the note in your room.” His father states, twirling the oatmeal with a spoon, “Where did you go?” 

“Just about.” 

There’s silence. 

“Look dad-”

“Son-” They start at the same time then they burst out laughing. 

“This is ridiculous.” Stiles chuckles, grabbing his dad’s oatmeal and taking a spoon for himself. 

“Are you sure you weren’t just about?” His father raised a brow, pointing at the empty paper pot in Stiles’ hand. 

“Went to South Korea.” He plops the pot on the island. 

“And you didn’t bring me why?” 

“Because-” He stops himself. Rapidly looking up into his father’s eyes, seeing his father smile widely at him. 

“I’m sorry.” Noah’s shoulders slump, lips tight. “I knew but I went and did it. You just looked… happy. Like everything is normal. I thought I could be normal too.” 

“I miss her so much, everyday.” Stiles watches a tear fall down one eye, then the other until he’s a sobbing mess at 7am in the kitchen over his oatmeal. Stiles silently goes over to his father and hugs, rubbing the small on his back. 

“I know dad. I know.” 

  
  
  


When Stiles got a text Tuesday afternoon he expected it to be Scott bribing him a ride home from practice. What he didn’t expect is probably the weirdest text he’s ever gotten. Well he’s only owned an Iphone for about a week and a half, but it’s weird nonetheless.

  
  


**** *** *** *****

  
  


**Come on musketeer munching**

**on meat and oil at 4 tomorrow,**

**we’ll pick you up .**

**who**

**it’s Laura silly**

**How’d you get my number?**

**McCall**

**‘meat and oil’ ?**

**4 on the dot.**

**roger!**

  
  
  


As Stiles climbs into the passenger seat next to Laura, he turns to the back, half expecting Derek’s brooding face staring right back at him. Only Xavier and Esme sit there. 

“Oh yeah Derek’s not here, something about catching up on school work.” Laura informs him which he simply nods at. 

The car ride was filled with lots of singing and dancing. Mostly of Stiles busting to the iconic Spice Girls song and the Hales laughing at him. It’s a joyful ride, Xavier cracking up jokes and Esme either laughing with or slapping him for it. 

They’re at the edge of Beacon Hills, parking in front of a diner Stiles has never seen before. “Hands down the best burger you’ll ever have.” Esme exclaims, grabbing his hand and leading him in. 

The diner is big and retro, indie music softly vibrating from the speakers. The walls are taped with vinyl discs and there’s old arcade machines in the corner. There isn’t a loud crowd inside but it isn’t entirely lacking in business either. 

A waiter leads them to a rectangle booth, placing their menus on the table and a little bell at the edge. “Please,  _ please,”  _ he looks over at Xavier, “ _ only  _ ring when you actually need me.” 

“But I always need you.” He replies, winking. The waiter blushes but nonetheless stands his ground. 

“I’m serious Xavier.” 

“I am too. I need you.” He leans a little closer just as the waiter slaps his face with his small notepad. 

“Well I don’t.” He frowns and turns away, giving the next table a greet and a bright smile. 

“Who..?” Stiles questions, though he can already guess. 

“My boyfriend.” Esme stares him down, “Okay okay my soon-to-be boyfriend. I’m working on it.” 

“He always comes to eat here to watch the boy serve. Apparently it’s hot.” Laura mumbles, looking through the menu. 

“The rolled up sleeves, watch, sweat and flushed lips from working hard genuinely makes me want to lose all self control.” 

“Well don’t. I don’t want to be kicked out.” Laura snaps. 

“You won’t! He loves me.” They watch him wave at the boy, as he scowls back, quickly turning his back on him. 

“Ha sure.” Laura replies. 

“Stiles choose your drink! We’ll order for you.” 

Once the food has been served, Stiles takes a generous bite, moaning loudly to the great mix of flavours in his mouth. The meat melts on his tongue, coated with cheese, juice of the tomato, crunchiness of the lettuce and zang of the pickles all blend well together with the cooked crispy dough on top. He sips his milkshake, washing it down. 

“Bloody hell. That! That was one of the best bites I’ve ever had.” 

Laura and Esme chuckle as Xavier fists the air in accomplishment. Stiles notices the waiter Xavier is pinning watching them, staring intently as Xavier shares his burger with Stiles urging him to try his. Amused, Stiles bites, even allowing Xavier to wipe his mouth. With the corner of his eye, he watches the waiter tightly grip the notepad and force himself to turn away, walking off into the kitchens.  _ You’re right, he probably does love you.  _

He didn’t see the waiter much after that, plus he couldn’t find himself to care as much. The three are amazing companies. Not too overbearing and definitely not boring so he’s been plenty distracted. He has noticed a few odd looks his way, he reckons the Hales must be known around and shrugs it off. 

“So Xavier… are you gay?” Stiles says, not bothering with any weird innuendos he’s heard people say to reference them (gay people that is).

The three stare at him. 

“Yeah. Why, is that a problem?” Xavier replies, biting his lower lip. 

“Ah no no. I just…” He wants to say how he lowkey expected all werewolves to be straight so that they could mate and have pups, then realises that they’re just not wolves, but humans too. Well maybe, some wolves are pretty gay too. He needs to rethink about werewolves’ mating instincts later. 

“I guess I’m surprised.” He finishes, feeding on some curly fries. Xavier chuckles, flicking Stiles’ forehead. 

Laura ends up paying for the whole thing, reminding Stiles that he now has to show her his room. He groaned, loudly enough that Esme hit him to shut him up. It works and he wonders if that’s just Esme’s way of magically shutting people’s traps that needs to be shut. If Xavier wasn’t a werewolf he bets the boy would be red all over his skin as the man will be hit every time he speaks- and he speaks a lot. 

They leave with Xavier’s arm around his shoulders and he knows the waiter is watching somewhere with a scowl in his face.  _ God, so dramatic.  _

When they get to his house, he leads the trio up the stairs and to the cow skin door of his bedroom. “Well, um… open it I guess?” He scratches the back on his head, feeling a bit awkward. 

On the other hand, Laura waltzes in with much excitement, slowly scanning the room. “Amazing..” 

A few corners and bits of the walls have been painted whenever Stiles was bored, which is a LOT, god he needs a better social life, except for that everything is pretty much the same. The three gaze around with a gasp, at how much colour and personality the room has compared to the rest of the house. Esme sits on his bed, stroking the blanket of insignias. 

“This..?” 

“Oh they’re presents. A friend’s grandma is a witch apparently? They’re supposed to be protective charms but they lost the energy a long time ago. Figured to give it to me instead of throwing it away. Though if you ask me, that charm thing is a bunch of bogus.” He adds nonchalantly, sitting at his desk and tidying the pencils and sketchbook, placing his current book on the side. 

“You don’t believe in witches?” Esme questions. 

He scoffs, “Who does?” He replies, further emphasising how ridiculous the whole idea is to him. Stiles needs to lay low, let them decide he isn’t anything dangerous and that’s when he’s waltz right in demanding the truth of what they will do with Scott. Deciding then and there if leaving them alive or not is the right thing to do

He pretends to not notice Esme relax more. 

“This wall is amazing what the fuck.” Xavier comments from the bathroom. The girls walk over, inspecting the city of Seoul he’s painted halfway there. “I’m not done.” 

“Already looks so cool.” Stiles smiles. 

“Oh!” Stiles remembers, going straight for his cow skin painted closet and whipping it open, kneeling and rummaging through the box laying there. He whips out a thick leather journal and hands it over to Esme. 

“The first half are travels from before she met my dad and the second half are all with me. Some places obviously won’t be there anymore since it was years ago but the rest should be fine.” 

Esme gingerly takes it, giving Stiles a thank you before sitting on the carpet with Xavier and laying it out in front of them. She reads the first page. “To my son, Miec-?” 

“Mieczyslaw.” Stiles finishes for her. 

“To my son Mieczyslaw, this journal is to help you remember our travels. I love you.” 

The pages are adorned with frilly borders and pretty tape, pictures of places stick to the page, little notes written next to each one. The book is packed with stamps, flags for each country and favourite places they’ve been to. Some pictures of the whole family in Malaysia and Spain etc are there too. 

“This is amazing.” Esme comments, landing on one that says “Paris”. 

“Do you mind if we-?” 

“Oh sure sure of course.” Stiles goes to a drawer at his desk, taking two plain A4 paper and handing it over with a pen. 

The two take notes, of places that Claudia found hidden in alleys, of language tips, of secret menus, of hidden pathways she found that lead to pretty waterfalls and rivers or secret cafes and shops.

“Thank you Stiles.” They tell him, a big smile plastered on their faces. 

“You’re welcome.” 

By the time the three have left, he can’t help but stare at the journal. He picks it up, carefully flipping the pages and stroking the borders, his mother’s happy face and her beautiful handwriting. He misses her, because that’s all he can do. Miss someone who’s dead. He can’t feel sad about it. He  _ can’t _ . 

  
  


The next day at school, a random guy accidentally bumps into him on his way to Maths. They exchange their sorrys and move on. At the end of the period though, he finds the same guy standing there outside the classroom and it thoroughly surprises him when Allison goes up and gives him a kiss. She’s told him about her boyfriend, but woah actually looking at the guy… 

The guy seems… Well, weird. Well he frankly seems like a creep to Stiles, and he knows better than to ignore his gut. Plus, him and Allison have bonded quite well in class, she even calls them friends and some part of Stiles wants nothing but to protect her. He makes a mental note to investigate the creep later, make sure Allison isn’t going out with some weirdo.

There was another killing last night. The first Stiles saw his father’s police files was the Sunday morning after making up, describing it as an ‘animal’ attack. Apparently it was Isaac Lahey’s dad, the same person from his English class that sits quietly all the way in the back. Stiles has seen him only hang around with Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd, both also not standing out much. They’ve been seen talking to Malia and Cora sometimes but apparently that was just because their parents were friends. Stiles seriously doubts that. What if Scott wasn’t the only one given the bite? And now one of their bitten werewolves’ father is killed? There’s just too much Stiles doesn’t know. 

Not to mention the asian girl still following him. How has she not noticed he knows she’s there? She’s good he gives her that, but Stiles is way too sensitive with his surroundings, magic or not, to not notice eventually. Stalkers are pretty easy to spot, he realises. He wonders if Derek knows his girlfriend is stalking him. It kind of annoys Stiles, seeing how Derek knows Stiles was flirting with him on the sofa yet didn’t shove him away… or is he an oblivious person? Doesn’t seem like it.  _ Ugh _ . Enough about Derek. 

Stiles walks into a corner of the library all the way at the back with a bean bag in hand. He found the place quiet and comfortable whenever he’s had to sit by himself because of Scott ditching him for more practice. Plus no one ever really comes around the area. The entryway was blocked by a bookcase that Stiles needs to put a little effort into for it to move, shocked to find a sagging body against the wall, earbuds in and scrolling through their phone not having noticed him. 

He closes the bookcase door, setting the bean bag without much care. The body then notices, looking up straight away in fright. It’s Isaac. Messy hair, tired face and a tense body. He makes a move to stand up and halts when Stiles puts a hand up. 

“It’s fine. I’m only here to read.” Stiles seats himself on the bean bag and uses his jacket to lean on as a pillow against the concrete wall. Taking out his earbuds, he blasts out some indie punk music and continues his reads on the Aztec empire. 

Stiles sees him sit back down hesitantly from the corner of his eye and go back to his phone. There’s a good distance between them and Stiles forgets he’s even there in the first place, immersed in the book and pages that smell like his home in Poland, glancing up a few times. He feels a tap on his knee and looks up, taking an earbud out. 

“The bell’s rung.” Isaac says in a low voice, turning and easily moving the bookcase, leaving. Stiles didn’t hear the bell ring for the end of lunch and he thinks Isaac isn’t a bad person at all. Quite nice actually. He wanted to say something about his father, say sorry, but he couldn’t find himself to do so. He’s sure the boy is tired of being told that all the time already, he was- when his mother died. Plus he’s not actually sorry for his loss, death is a weird concept that Stiles likes to avoid because he’s never felt sad about it except for when Sunny died. He’s sad his mum is gone, but he’s not sad she’s  _ dead.  _ He doesn’t quite understand it himself, he just feels some sort of empty hole for her. First he thought he just didn’t understand death, that he was in denial. However, staring at that empty hospital bed where her mother occupied for months hit him like a nail on the head. 

He does understand. He does know. He just… can’t feel it. Can’t feel sad that his mother is dead. He just felt empty. Then he got angry, really really angry. It’s a period of his time he doesn’t like thinking about considering how dangerous he was. It was the first time he truly felt how powerful he is. Fuck, he even scared himself. Stiles is terrifyingly powerful, and those restriction spells placed on him since then have restricted numerous things about himself. It put his magic and emotions in check. Stiles can technically break it anyday, if he needs to protect, but he’s the one who asked for it in the first place. Plus if he didn’t it would’ve broken the powerful concealment charm straight away. A restriction spell for his magic, another for his emotions and a charm to conceal himself. 

He never really had trouble controlling his emotions, his mother’s death was the only time he understood Guardian Abe’s explanation for “extreme”. He wondered if he could grief then, how much more powerful he would’ve been. He’s thankful, he doesn’t know what he would’ve done. Now those spells are precautions, Stiles likes knowing he can’t be dangerous as he thinks. That right now he’s a normal teenager. Well that’s what he thought, until he came home to Scott being a fucking werewolf and a pack of them invited him and his father for dinner. Normal? Stiles knows better than to think all this is is the last of it. Normal never seems to exist in his life. 

Well he’s gotten rid of all those ridiculous thoughts, as normality will never be him, his whole existence isn’t normal; How can he suspect anything happening around him to be? It’s a truly naive thought, and naiveness is definitely not what Stiles is. He is very determined on getting in the good sides of the Hales, find out what they’re planning, find out who’s doing all these killings and if they’re related to the pack, why Scott got bit, why the fuck Derek’s girlfriend is still following him around taking pictures like a stalker and… why there are pictures of Allison all over the carpet? 

Stiles, on his way to leave the almost empty library, finds some printed pictures of Allison near a glass window from the outside in the corner of the library exit. There’s even some of her taking her clothes off, walking about in her underwear. What the fuck? 

Stiles shoves them into his bag, going to look for Allison straight away to show her. It’s History, meaning they’ll be sitting right next to each other, he can show her then. 

Allison didn’t show up for History. So now he has to walk around the hallways glancing about quickly in frantic order to look for her. His face lights up at the sight of her totally-none-creepo boyfriend and immediately strolls over. 

“Where’s Allison?” He demands. 

“Who’s asking?” He eyes Stiles, crossing his arms.

“I’m her friend.” 

“Her friends are Lydia and them. I don’t see you as someone that hangs out with them.” He counters.

“Ugh just tell me where she is it’s important-” Then he spots it, the camera around the man’s neck. 

“What’s your name again?” Stiles questions. 

He laughs, “You're her friend and you don’t know my name?” 

“Tell me.”

“Fine, It’s Matt.” 

“You’re in the school newspaper.” 

“Yeah…? What about it?” He eyes him up and down.

Stiles leaves, his brain cranking up many possibilities at why the male gave him weird vibes. The fact that Stiles remembered Matt passing the bookcase door around 5 minutes before Isaac tapped him, his zip on the bag was open, the camera around his neck plus he has access to the photography room. Wait… her own boyfriend is her stalker? That doesn’t make sense. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a possibility… He needs to warn Allison. 

He stalked Matt that night, watching him carefully leave Allison’s. Watching him so eerily quiet as the man whips his camera out and takes a few of his girlfriend from outside the window. Stiles watches in disbelief and amusement, taking pictures of the stalker acts on his phone. Taking evidence. With a little editing of the lighting, you can clearly see his face in the dim darkness. _ Bloody hell.  _

  
  


He doesn’t see Allison until Friday night at the rave everyone at school has been talking about. It took Scott quite a while to find someone willing to sell them tickets. The place is low ceiled, tiled open room that stretches for many meters. There’s laser lights dancing off the air, music booming so loud Stiles can feel vibrations underneath his feet. 

Scott has dragged him there, talking about socialising. Stiles knows he’s just looking for Allison despite Stiles’ news of her relationship to him, being the desperate little puppy that he is. He spots Erica and Isaac in the corner, dancing too awkwardly and glancing around frantically. He raises a brow at that. It quickly leaves his mind though, mentally thanking Scott as he spots Allison and Matt dancing on the dance floor, going straight for her. He taps her shoulder, a bit surprised when she turns and immediately goes for a hug. 

“Hey!” She greets, giving him a big smile. 

“Hey.” He nods at Matt, going to speak to the side of Allison’s ear. 

“Hey! Can we talk?!” He shouts over the electronic music. 

She looks at him for a moment, about to refuse and say later, but she catches the side glance he gives her. “Sure!” She quickly shout-whispers something to Matt and grabs Stiles’ hand, dragging him outside near the bathrooms. 

They close the door behind them, muffling the music to a background sound. She gives him another greeting hug and leans against the sinks. 

“It’s good to see you Stiles!” 

“Yeah, me too.” He says, now a bit nervous about talking. How do you tell a friend her boyfriend is a stalker- stalking her? 

“So what’s up?” She questions, leaning over at the sink and turning the tap on. 

“This is going to include me waffling a lot, ranting a little bit in between so just listen. It’s important.” He runs a hand through his hair before giving her a firm look. 

“Okay…?.” 

“Okay so yesterday at lunch I went to the library because Scott was being an asshole and ditching me for extra practice-” She opens her mouth, probably to ask who Scott is  _ again,  _ but he holds a finger out, “And I sat in this corner that’s covered with a bookcase which took me a lot of effort to move by the way- anyways, that has nothing to do with is,” he sighs, pausing for a sec before reaching into his pocket, “I didn’t hear the bell ring so on the way out I was the only one left. By the exit doors in the corner, were these.” He shuffles the pictures in his hand before handing them over. 

He watches Allison take them with a confused face that quickly turns to horror. “What?! What is this?!” 

“Exactly! Exactly my reaction! As soon as I found these I went to look for you but you weren’t in History-”

“I was at-”

“Not important,” he interrupts her, “Anyways I couldn’t find you so I went looking for you. Then I stumbled upon Matt.” Her eyes widened. 

“What, you think he knows something about this? He would’ve told me!”

“Not if he’s the one who’s been taking the pictures in the first place.” This statement shocks her, about to protest and defend the preposterous claim until Stiles shoves his phone against her face. 

“I saw him in the library, Allison. I remember him with earphones on. Meaning, he would’ve not heard the bell and left later than anyone else. The zipper on his bag was open and he had access to the photography room. It was all too much of a coincidence, so I stalked him after school.” Allison takes the phone into her hands, trembling. 

“I thought everything was normal. I needed to check that he wasn’t the stalker, something irked me about him from the start. But when he left your house… he whipped his camera out and started taking pictures of you Allison. And judging from your reaction, you definitely had no idea.” Allison zooms in on Matt’s face, gasping. His face is clear and  _ right there.  _

“H-how do we know those,” she points to the prints, “were taken from him?” 

“I wondered that too.” He takes his phone back a second, swiping to the left and handing it back to her. 

“I-I can’t b-believe this.” Her voice is shaky now too as she stares at the video playing. Once Matt has left from his spot behind a bush, Stiles waits a moment and stands where Matt was previously and films Allison’s window: the exact same angle and view from the printed photographs. 

“I’ve b-been wondering f-for weeks if someone’s been f-following me. I-I always feel a-anxiety, like s-someone’s watching me.” Her hands tremble so much Stiles’ phone almost drops to the ground, but he swiftly catches it and tucks it quickly into his pocket. He glances to the prints on the sink and back to the shivers of his friend. 

“God Jackson said I was j-just imagining things. That I was being paranoid.” She’s managed to catch her voice, but she’s still undeniably shaking. Not knowing what to do, he reaches out and gives her a comforting hug. Allison leans on his shoulder, gripping his sweaty tee and starts sobbing a little. 

“I can’t believe this. What… what the FUCK! My own boyfriend is the stalker that’s made me feel uncomfortable for weeks? I thought I was fucking crazy!” She then gasps. 

“Now it all makes sense! God I was so stupid. I kept seeing him everywhere Stiles. I simply thought it was fate, that we liked the same bookstores or that we had so much in common. That… we were meant to be.” She goes quiet, hands gripping on his back tighter. “I was so happy.” She whispers, so quiet he didn’t think he would’ve heard her if he wasn’t this close. 

He wraps his arms to her mid back, bringing her in tighter and squishing his cheek against her head. He rubs the small on her back in soothing circles, as Allison curls into him with so much disbelief he sees her pinch herself a few times to make sure it isn’t a dream. 

“I’m so mad.” She mutters, before pulling her head away. Still in his arms, she looks up at him with a determined expression. 

“I’m so fucking mad. Fuck, I’m so fucking MAD!” Stiles let’s go of her as she storms for the printed pictures, shuffling through them to give her more anger. “That fucking manipulator! Asshole! What a fucking jerk!” She turns on her heel quickly, storming out with the scariest expression Stiles has ever seen on her. He’s scared too of her right now, but nonetheless he follows in a hurry. 

He watches Allison stroll to a seat in the corner where Matt sits, scrolling through his phone obviously bored. As soon as he notices her, he smiles, which then falls immediately upon seeing her furious figure. 

“Matt, what the FUCK is this?!” She shouts, shoving the prints into his lap. He stills, eyes widening in recognition at the prints he’s lost the day before, the prints that put him into panic when he searched for it back in the library, finding nothing. 

“What?! Not even going to question, deny anything?!” Matt looks up with an agape mouth, then closes it again. He’s shocked, with no idea what to say. He opens his mouth again but Stiles interrupts him. 

“Don’t even say anything. You’ve already hurt her enough.” Matt ignores him. 

“Allie I-“ 

“DON’T! Don’t call me that. Ever again. Don’t even call my name. Actually don’t even talk to me, look at me or bother me with your existence ever again Matt. We’re fucking done.” Stiles quickly grabs the prints -evidence for when they file a report- giving Matt a devilish smile. 

“You’re fucking pathetic.” He spits quietly at his face, grabbing for the final print. Allison grabs his arm and they walk away together in unison. Matt sits there dumbfounded. 

  
  


They sit together on the steps outside a fire escape, in complete silence. Allison glances over, then laughs. Very loudly. She slaps her thighs, not caring how much her dress has ridden up and the fact that the straps of her top have fallen on the sides. She brings her thin cardigan over her shoulders, somehow fixing the straps and grips her sleeves. 

“I can’t believe my fucking life right now.”  _ Tell me about it.  _ Stiles joins her laughter session, clutching onto his abdomen. 

“What’s going on?” Their laughter ceases, rapidly craning their neck behind them to the voice. Scott stands there, confused and…  _ jealous?  _

“Wait. You’re Scott?” Allison questions, “No way.” 

Stiles looks at her in question. 

“He’s the guy who helped me take care of the dog I saved! The guy from the vet clinic. He even lent me clothes because I was soaking.” She adds, beaming up at him. “So… your name’s Scott.” She states. He smiles back nervously and Stiles can see a little blush creeping up his neck.  _ Adorable.  _

Stiles parts from Allison, patting the spot next to him and between Allison, gesturing for him to sit. “So… why were you guys laughing like that?” He sits.

Allison immediately glances to Stiles and laughs again, shaking her shoulders. She laughs so hard she cries. Stiles joins her, finding the whole situation absolutely ridiculous.  _ Bloody hell, What the fuck is wrong with this town?  _

Scott looks between them, confused as fuck and was about to ask again when they suddenly hear a scream. Quickly standing at alert, Stiles halts and listens. 

“What was that?!” Allison demands, scanning the area. It’s silent again, but then there’s another scream. The three look at each other before all mentally agreeing to go after the sound in quick steps. 

It’s Lydia, on the floor and clutching it with so much effort Stiles is sure her nails have chipped off. She’s on her bum, panic resounding through her body in shakes. In front of her is a body, a bloodied one. It’s the same girl who let them in earlier- checking tickets. She’s clutching onto her swollen belly, something he didn’t notice in all her layers of clothing.  _ She was pregnant.  _ There’s slashes across her chest, wounds so deep Stiles is sure she’s dead. 

The other two are frozen at the spot, the site of the corpse freezing them from the deep core of their souls. Stiles lightly taps Allison at the side which must’ve done the work because she’s by Lydia’s side quickly, reassuring her. Stiles moves forward, analysing the body. He bites his lip, moving a hand forward and closing her eyes in respect. He turns to Scott.

“Call an ambulance!” He shouts, taking Scott out of his trance. Awkwardly trembling, he fiddles with his phone and calls. Stiles switched his attention back to the corpse, catching the precise slash just below the back of her neck.  _ Huh.  _ His eyes catch something green and glances up, frowning. It was more than just green, some creature had zoomed past in front of them. 

As Scott finishes his call, he looks to the side to make sure Allison is okay. She isn’t there, nor is Lydia. Panic floods into the pits of his stomach, glancing around about to go look for her when his phone rings. His eyes widen at the caller, taking a few steps back so as to not let Stiles hear. Stiles notices, whispering an “enhancing senses” spell and listens in, completely forgetting that he shouldn’t use magic. His gut tells him to listen. 

“Scott! Where are you?” It’s Erica’s voice. 

“I’m still at the rave. Look we just found a dead body-”

“We know we know. It was a kanima.” She hurries, “The kanima’s attacked the station. Derek’s hurried over before us. Talia told us to go home. Talia said that Isaac and I observing tonight is enough. It isn’t. Because we didn’t look properly, someone died tonight. Because of us Scott. Since most of the pack are out of town tonight, Isaac and I are going to help Derek at the station. So are you going to stop messing around or finally use these wolfy powers for good?” 

“Wait, what’s a kanima?”  _ My thoughts exactly.  _

“SCOTT!”

“I’m coming.” He simply says, hanging up. Stiles pretends to go back to looking over the body, perking up as he hears the sirens in the distance. He feels Scott looming over him and grasping his shoulder. 

“Stiles, can you drop me off somewhere?” He questions in a serious tone, a tone completely unknown to Stiles. He tries to bite back his smirk at how mature the other seems. 

“Where? Now? Can’t this wait until the ambulance gets here?” He says, making himself sound convincing as much as he can. As much as he wants to up and leave the moment he heard “ attacked the station”, he still needs to pretend.  _ Ugh.  _

“Now, this can’t wait. We need to leave,  _ now.”  _ Stiles opens his mouth again but notices Scott’s expression and zips his mouth shut. He nods, getting up and giving the corpse one final look over before running to his jeep, not surprised in the least when Scott catches up and gets there before him. 

Once they’ve climbed in, Stiles asks him a question he already knows the answer to, “Where to?” 

“The station.” Stiles hopes his dad is okay, he mentally prays when he’s not even in the least bit religious that he’s not hurt or Stiles will do a lot more than just protect. 

  
  


Stiles notices the eerie quiet hastily, eyes darting for any signs of life. With a desperate need to make sure his father is okay. About to climb out of the vehicle, he gives Scott a shocked look when the boy grabs his wrist to stop him with a tight grip. 

“Stay here.” He tells his best friend. 

“What? Why?!” Stiles seriously questions, not believing that he got him to drive to a dangerous location but is then not allowed to enter said dangerous location. Scott is stupid like that. 

“I said, Stay here.” He demands, then in a smaller voice, “Please.” Stiles catches the solemn, scared look in his eyes and nods. He watches the werewolf climb out and run inside in a mere three seconds. Damn that werewolf speed of his. 

After counting to 5, Stiles then also climbs out too, not locking the doors in case they have to bolt out of there. Which is a very likely case. He runs inside with speed, not purposely slowing himself down like what he does in PE so as to not catch unnecessary attention. He needs to ready himself, to not hold back. He needs to protect his father… from a fucking  _ kanima.  _

_ Bloody hell, what in the actual fuck is wrong with this town?  _

Glancing around, he moves to the hallway on the right, noticing a bloody body on top of someone with shoes he knows well. He leans into the other corridor, spotting three corpses splattered, clawed bloody marks across their chests. Speedily going to deputy Tara and pushing the body off her, he checks and rolls her body up, shocked to feel her heartbeat still beating on her back and the slash across her neck, the same one from the corpse earlier at the rave. He notices the empty holster at her hip and speaks as he glances around, hoping it just got kicked off somewhere and that someone who’s looking to murder people haven’t just gotten a hold of a gun. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, not entirely expecting her to answer. 

“Stiles? What are you doing here? Get away!” He ignores her. 

“Can you move?” 

“I can’t feel anything from the neck down- What are you still doing here? It’s dangerous Stiles-”  _ Paralysion.  _

“My dad- is he okay?” Tara bites on her lower lip. 

“Yeah… he’s safe Stiles so quickly get away!” She lies. Stiles can feel it, her heart skips a beat. He’s holding on her back after all.

“As soon as the paralysis wears off, leave okay?” He demands, voice with a slight edge. He doesn’t hear her reply, as the next thing he knows he’s on his way to his father’s office. 

He stops behind the door as soon as he hears voices. He leans into a little open creak of the blinds and squints his eyes. Someone stands in front of the window, partially blocking his view, having the Sheriff, Scott and Isaac at gunpoint. Erica is on the floor, unmoving, partially shifted. Muttering the senses enhancement spell again, he’s glad he’s concealed his presence. He needs to see his father, get him somewhere safe. He hears his father speak. 

“Matt? It’s Matt right?” He starts, “Matt, whatever’s going on, I guarantee you there’s a solution that doesn’t involve a gun.” He tries to calm him, hands out forward.  _ Matt? That fucking stalker?  _

His suspicions are confirmed when he hears Matt’s voice. “You know it’s funny you say that because I don’t think you’re aware of just how right you are.” He says with a smile. 

“I know you don’t want to hurt people.” Sheriff replies with a soft voice. 

“Actually, I wanna hurt a lot of people,” He deadpans, “You three weren’t on my list but I could be persuaded.” He smiles again, then gestures to Scott. “You, you and you, come with me.” He demands, leaving still Erica on the floor. Stiles takes two quick steps behind a desk and crouches, watching Matt lead the group towards the cells. He glances around. Presuming the green creature thing he saw was the kanima, where is it? 

Stealthy, he walks back into the office and sits, leaning over Erica. Her eyes widen at the sight of the ‘human’, opening her mouth when Stiles speaks first. 

“Look I don’t know what’s happening with the whole furry, claws and fangs thing,” he does, “but all I care about is getting my dad safe. So, are you going to help me or not?” He urges. 

“You can tell it’s me?” She simply asks. 

“What kind of question is that? Wait- are you not Erica? Am I talking to Chewbacca?” He gives her a side eye, scrunching the space between his brows for dramatic effect. She laughs, then gets serious. 

“I want you to do something for me Stiles.” He nods, “I need you to break my arm.” 

“What?!” He whisper-shouts. 

“I need to get this poison out of my system and to do that I need to trigger the healing process. Stiles, break my arm. Right now. Before he comes back.” She urges as Stiles continues giving her a dumbfounded expression, “Stiles!” She whisper-shouts. In one quick motion, Stiles clutches her arm in his arms, leaning over her with his knee and twisting his body, pulling Erica’s arm with her. Erica grunts deeply from her chest, biting into her bottom lip to prevent herself from screaming. Stiles sees it bleed. 

Without warning, he hears the footsteps in the hallway, making their way into the office. He gives Erica’s arm a look over, it doesn’t look broken underneath her jacket unless you look closely. Using his sleeve, he wipes the blood off Erica’s lip and bolts out of the office to hide behind his desk again. Not even a second later, Scott Isaac and Matt emerge from the corner and back into the office. As soon as Matt closes the door behind them, Stiles runs for his father near the cells. 

His father is cuffed to the wall, struggling to break himself free. As soon as he notices Stiles, he gasps. “Son what are you-” Stiles interrupts with a huff, “Super magical son remember?” He counters, fiddling with the cuffs. He takes a hairpin out, carefully working his way through the cuffs. “Stiles, how do you-” Stiles shoves the blush creeping up his cheek right back down. 

“Not important dad. Now, tell me what’s going on.” 

“I have no clue, I was just working when I heard some deputies scream. I went to look, that’s when that boy came and shoved the gun in my face. Then those two came-”

“Erica and Isaac-”

“Yeah them, then this weird creature came and cut the girl’s neck. She fell right to the floor,” Stiles clicks the cuffs open, making him grin widely, “They called it… what was it? A Kamino? Kanoma?”

“A Kanima.” He finishes for his dad. His father gives him a weird look, standing and rubbing his wrist. 

“This is something supernatural isn’t it?” He questions. Stiles nods, focusing on the buzz underneath his skin. 

“I think the kanima and Matt are working together. We need to think of them as such,” He starts, “Also considering Scott, Erica and Isaac are here, more will come.” He mutters to himself, walking in circles in a pace, “We know the kanima is the one who can paralyse, so he’s probably close.” He quickly turns to his father, “Wait, why are they attacking the station in the first place?” 

“Before Matt came, I was working on the murders. Murders that I’ve found he’s involved in. He’s probably trying to clear his records or- Melissa!” He shouts, not too loud for the intruders to hear. 

“Melissa?” 

“I called her over to confirm something.” He digs for his pocket, groaning. “Left my phone in the office.” He informs his son. Stiles nods, going for his phone as well. He goes to his contacts, ringing Melissa as he fiddles with his phone. Hearing a car near, they both jerk to it. 

“It’s her.” Sheriff Stilinski whispers, then darts for the door. Stiles grabs to his shirt, halting him. “Dad stop!” 

“That’s not Melissa,” He shakes the phone in his hand, with Melissa on speaker, the busy sounds of the hospital behind her, “Plus she’ll never answer while she drives.” Noah instantly relaxes, as Stiles moves his hand away and shoves the phone into his father’s hand. 

“There’s another reason Matt attacked the station. Matt’s smart dad, I think he’s planning something. I need to find out.” The sheriff looks to his son and the phone, understanding what Stiles is trying to get at. 

“Be safe okay? As strong as you are- trust me I know you’re my son- it doesn’t stop you from getting hurt. I’ll handle things from this end, you go and stop Matt.” He brings the phone to his ear, “There's also a few people I need to make phone calls to.” Stiles nods, giving him a firm hug and dashes out of the cells. 

He hides behind a wall as he hears voices, a door opening, the deep relief of Scott, “Oh thank god!” Then a loud thud onto the floor. He glances over, seeing…  _ Jackson?  _ lean over the body with yellow lizard eyes and green scales coating his skin. Matt taps the body with a foot, smiling down at Derek. 

Stiles rounds the corner, mere centimetres away from Jackson. He needs to get into the room, to speak with Matt. Smoothly interrogate the boy. Then he freezes, he can get himself caught. He can act human and…  _ frail.  _

He walks over to the station entrance, breathing deeply and letting his presence known. He walks through, ignoring how Tara is glancing at him with terrified eyes from the side of the front desk and goes to the corridor where everyone else was. “Hello? Scott? Where are you?” He shouts out, “Where is everyone?” 

A gun clicks behind him. Stiles slowly turns, making his best terrified expression at the gun in his face. 

“Stiles. Stiles fucking Stilinski. The very person who ruined what Allison and I had.” Matt spits, walking in front of him as Stiles moves backward, hands up in surrender. 

“Matt, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it! You! Because of you Allison-” They step into the room and Stiles glances around quickly before back onto Matt. 

“What? Broke up with you? It wasn’t because of me Matt, it was because of you.” He deliberately provokes, stepping to the side of Derek laying on the floor. He catches Isaac and Scott give him terrified expressions and Scott confused one underneath. 

Matt scoffs, rolling Derek over with his foot. “If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t have attacked the station.” He tells Stiles, leaning over Derek. 

Derek scoffs, “This is the one controlling him? This kid?”  _ There’s that arrogant tone again.  _

He switches his attention to Derek, “Well, Derek, not everyone’s lucky enough to be a big, bad werewolf.” He counters, “Oh that’s right!” He exclaims, looking over everyone. 

“I’ve learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, kanimas. It’s like a freaking Halloween party every full moon.” He jokes with a smile. He turns to Stiles. 

“Except for you Stiles. What do you turn into?” He questions.  _ Your worst nightmare.  _ Stiles clamps his mouth shut, he needs to play this smart. 

“Abominable snowman.” Well, so much for smart, “But it’s a winter time thing you know, seasonal.” Matt scoffs, “I don’t turn into a Stalker like some people.” He mutters below his breath, purposely a bit too loud. 

Jackson slashes at his neck, collapsing on top of Derek. “You bitch.” 

“Watch your mouth Stilinski.” Matt warns. 

“Get him… off of me.” Derek grunts.  _ Derek smells good.  _

“Oh I don’t know, Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair.”  _ Yeah if it wasn’t for his stalker girlfriend.  _ Stiles did see himself getting paralysed, but on top of Derek and right into his chest? Not really, no. He’s not complaining though. He almost groans in annoyance when Matt pushes Stiles off of Derek, peering over him as the human rolls to the side. 

“It must kind of suck though. To have all that power taken from you with just a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you’re not used to feeling so hopeless.” 

“Still got some teeth. Why don’t you come a little closer huh? We’ll see how helpless I am.” Derek replies.  _ Well, why was that hot?  _

“Did you seriously come here with a gun pointed at us because of what happened with Allison?” Stiles scoffs, “I’ll say it again. You’re fucking pathetic.” Stiles can feel the gazes at him, but he keeps his eyes locked to the ceiling, “Your little dirty secret got out so now you’re scaring people for attention? How pathetic is that.” He laughs deeply from his chest. His provocation is replied with Matt’s foot onto his neck, choking him. 

Stiles struggles to breathe, focusing on his magic as to not let it out of control. _I’m not in danger I’m not in danger_ _I’m not in danger_ _I’m not in danger I’m not in-_

“Stop!” Scott shouts, “Matt stop please.” He begs. Matt looks over, smirking. The next thing they knew, Isaac is on the floor, now paralysed too. Matt takes his foot off Stiles, walking over to a desk. Stiles gasps for breath, ignoring Derek’s worried looks over at him. 

Scott makes a move to him, “Scott.” Matt warns, “I’m just going to check if he’s okay.” Matt stares into him, before sighing and nodding. “Only the human.” 

Scott comes over and helps Stiles up into a chair. Stiles let’s him, giving Derek a worried look.  _ Is Erica still paralysed?  _ Once Stiles is on the chair, he makes his voice soft. 

“Matt.” He calls. 

“I swear to god if you speak another word-” Stiles doesn’t let him finish. 

“It’s not just because of Allison isn’t it?” Matt goes silent, sinking into his chair a little. 

“He shouldn’t have let them drink.” He says with a low voice. 

“What?” Scott questions. 

“Lahey! HE SHOULDN’T HAVE LET THEM DRINK!” He shouts out. 

“What? Who was drinking?”  _ Keep going Scott.  _ Stiles focuses on his body, pushing the toxin out in fluid motions, wrapping it with  _ warm  _ things, barely hearing Matt and Scott speak, but focusing as much as he can.

“The swim team, you idiot!” He stands straighter, clutching the gun in his hand and waving it. 

“I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know they had just won state, and Lahey, he’s letting his favourites come over to have a couple of drinks to celebrate,” He mocks, “Who cares if they’re 17 right?” 

“Were you at Isaac’s?” Isaac twitches on the floor, remembering the events of that night. 

“He had the first edition of spider-man, or was it Batman?” He nudges the body on the floor, “And we were gonna make a trade.” 

“But then I’m over there and I hear music, and everyone’s having a good time, and I see Sean- He throws Jessica into the pool and then Bennet goes in and- then Camden,” He chuckles, “Isaac’s jarhead brother, he grabs me. He thinks it’s funny.” 

“They threw you in.” Scott says. 

“I yelled that I can’t swim, but nobody listens. I go under and I swallow water, and no one cares, and I see these bodies underwater. I see Jessica’s got her hands down Sean’s board shorts. Tucker’s grabbing Kara and I’m- drowning. I’m dying, and they’re laughing. All of a sudden, I was just… I’m lying by the pool, and Lahey is right there, right above me, and he says…” He steps closer to Scott, right at his face. He goes a bit red in fury, gripping his gun, “He says you tell NO ONE! This… This is YOUR fault! What little bastard doesn’t know how to swim? You say nothing! You tell no one. NO ONE!” 

If Stiles can see Isaac’s face right now he knows it’ll be full of shame. Regret. Stiles can practically smell it reeking of the limp body. Stiles can move his neck now, looking down at Derek. He has claws digging into his thigh, a poor attempt to trigger some sort of healing process. Stiles kind of wants to break his arm. In a loving sort of way.  _ God wait that was a weird thought.  _

Then, Stiles can move his fingers, toes and his wrists and ankles. He keeps still though, becoming free of the toxin this early is not very human-like. Maybe for the abominable snowman it’ll be okay sure. Matt continues with his monologue. 

“...and I didn’t. I didn’t tell anyone. And I would see them at school and they wouldn’t even look at me. I’d wake up in the middle of the night. I’d gasp for breath, and my parents, they thought I was asthmatic. They- they even gave me an inhaler,” he darkly chuckles, looking off into space,  _ keep going keep going,  _ “They didn’t know that everytime I closed my eyes, I… I was drowning. You know that little light white light that they talk about you see when you die? Well I didn’t see anything. Just… darkness. Everything was dark.” Stiles stills. He knows that darkness all too well. In a state between life and death, it was the only thing he knew. 

“So you killed them. For vengeance.” Stiles says. Matt gives him a look. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re attacking the station.” He continues. 

“I need answers.” He pauses, “I need the bestiary.” 

“For what?” Derek questions. 

“For-for this.” He lifts his shirt up, showing the same green scales on Jackson on his side. Scott gasps. Stiles’ eyes widens…  _ he’s turning into a kanima himself?  _ Stiles goes through numerous possibilities. He finally remembers. Kanimas. He studied them in class years ago. They’re creatures who seek for a master. Kanimas- their whole existence has rules. Matt evidently broke some rules and so the universe is balancing things out.  _ I can use this.  _ Stiles scoffs. 

“I don’t think we need some fucking  _ bestiary  _ or whatever that is,” How would he get one by attacking a station? It doesn’t make sense, “to tell you what that is.” Derek glances up at him, with Scott looking over at him with a confused face. 

“You’re turning to whatever Jackson is.” He deadpans. “Like come on, seriously, exactly the same type of scales and shade as Jackson’s? Plus you’re somehow controlling his actions? Too much of a coincidence don’t you think.” He can see Matt falter, about to deny but seriously thinking of it, “Maybe there’s a limit. I don’t know, controlling some green creature doesn’t come with a manual does it?” He teases. He needs Matt to break, right now.  _ Just a little more.  _

“You’ll have slit yellow eyes just like him. A tail- scales. Whose orders will you follow then? Well it won’t change anything- you’re already a slave to your own mind. Trapped. Your dreams haven’t stopped at all have they? Even though you already killed everyone. It’s just become stronger. Why fight it?” Matt is silent, confirming, “So succumb to that drowning feeling forever. Darkness. It’s the only thing that’s ever been truly  _ yours.  _ You’ll turn numb, not feeling it anymore once you become what Jackson is. Jackson is strong and agile. You’ll become  _ just  _ like him. And between you and me, I’d rather listen to someone else’s orders than listen to the demons in my own head.” He whispers the last sentence. He stands, surprising everyone in the room. He ignores them, knowing as much as he needs to lay low, he has no idea how long until some of the pack gets here or others who can help. He needs to use this right now, get through Matt in some way. And he knows exactly how. 

Walking with determination, he sets his eyes on Matt. 

Matt crumbles into his seat, sweating and gripping the gun. He’s wary of Stiles, the whole room has as Stiles’ aura darkens. He leans over and gives him a gentle smile. “Matt there was nothing wrong with taking pictures of Allison.” Stiles feels disgusted just saying it, there's everything wrong with it, “You were just taking pictures of someone you love right? Yet she shun you for it. She hated you. She looked at you as if you’re powerless and  _ disgusting.”  _ He spits the last word out, watching Matt tremble underneath him, “Just like Coach Lahey did. You were just going to meet Isaac. Yet you were thrown in the pool, you told them you can’t swim. They let you drown. You were so powerless and Lahey was disgusted by it.” Stiles goes for the hand holding the gun and Matt flinches. Just as Matt is about to snap out of this trance Stiles has got him in, Stiles doesn’t take the gun. Instead he clutches Matt’s hand into his hands, not really seeming to care that there’s a literal gun in between his fingers. “Then you became powerless to your mind. It took every piece of you with every dream and gasping breath. Even though you survived, you still felt like you were drowning over and over.” 

Stiles kneels in front of him, giving Matt gentle eyes. They’re genuine Stiles realises. How much he understands Matt. Stiles sometimes still awakens from watching Sunny in the woods, from being trapped in his mind for months. He would gasp and tell himself it’s not like that anymore- in that nightmare. He takes Matt’s other hand and clasps them together. 

“Become just like Jackson Matt. You’ll be strong, agile, special and  _ powerful.  _ No one would be disgusted by you anymore. You won’t be drowning anymore. I’ll take care of you- let’s kill people only you want to kill.” He hears Scott’s sharp intake of breath, “Let’s punish everyone who hurt you.” He lies. “I’m just like you Matt. I am powerless. I understand. I’m not what they are, what Jackson is. But you can be. You can be power and everything and more. You’ll be amazing.” Stiles smiles, watching Matt take a deep intake of breath, “I’m not Lahey or Allison- I know who you are. I accept who you are. You love photography, leather jackets, you tell bad jokes, you’re wounded and you’re battling through so hard. And I am here to tell you, you don’t have to keep fighting anymore. Share it with me Matt, I’ll help you. Our bond will be unlike any other.” He finishes. 

Stiles casually takes the gun from Matt’s hand ignoring Matt’s reach for it. “You don’t need something like this. Soon, something like a bullet can’t even kill you.” He throws the gun across the floor, far away from Scott and the rest. He gives Matt a smile and holds his cheeks. “What do you say Matty? Is it finally to stop drowning after so long?” Stiles feels some sort of soft spot for Matt. He was a victim. A victim who’s being punished every second of every day. He truly means it when he tells Matt that he can share it with him. “Let’s go Matty. We need to complete the process. There’s more people to punish right?” 

The two stare into each other’s eyes, some sort of agreement goes between them and soon Matt is standing. Stiles places Matt’s head on his shoulder, walking together. “You’ll be a fury.” He comments. 

Stiles notices Scott about to follow. “None of you follow us. None.” He commands, voice bitter and cold. He gives Derek a quick look, mouthing something, before walking off together with Matt so quiet and Jackson following behind them. 

  
  
  


────

  
  
  


They drive around for a bit, Jackson in the back seat completely still and out of it. Stiles is still holding Matt’s hand, stroking his palm with his thumb. Matt’s voice is raw when he speaks, like he’s been crying over and over in his mind. 

“Who are we going to punish?” He questions. Everyone on the swim team that’s still in Beacon Hills is dead.

“There’s still one person left who hasn’t been punished.” He simply says, giving Matt a soft grin. Matt raises a brow. “Allison dummy.” He chuckles. Matt freezes in his hand, biting his lip. Stiles continues stroking his palm, as if he didn’t notice. 

“Allison? Why- why Allison?” 

“She hates you for loving her so much. Matt, I showed her the prints to tell her just how much you adore her, but she lashed out on me. Told me to call you names or else she won’t be my friend anymore. I’m so sorry for that.” Giving them an equal ground of wanting to be liked by the same person would resonate deeply in someone like Matt. Plus admitting and apologising too? He’s got this in the bag. 

“Am I a stalker?” Matt asks, the same way Stiles asked his mother all those years ago: “Am I dangerous?” Stiles wants to say no, but he remembers his mother’s words. She never did say no, never lied to him. 

“Yes.” He simply says, answering honestly, tightening his hold onto Matt’s hand, “Doesn’t mean you’re bad Matty. That you’re a bad person. You don’t deserve this.” Matt wants to cry. They’re words he’s always wanted someone to say to him, someone to tell him he can be  _ someone,  _ someone to help him from everything. Frankly, he can’t do it on his own. That’s why Jackson is more than a kanima to him, way more than someone who just follows what he thinks. He closes his eyes for a moment, ordering Jackson. 

Stiles lets out a surprised yelp as Jackson wraps his arms around Stiles from the back, around the car seat. He releases him, some green scales disappearing on his neck. 

“Stiles, when I become a kanima, would you be my master?” Matt asks. Stiles concludes that Matt looks so pitiful and small next to him, someone who just yearned to be understood and loved. Stiles nods. 

“If you want me to be.” Stiles says. 

They drive up to the school, parking in his usual spot, stopping the car. “The school?” Matt questions, wary again. Stiles reassures him, bringing Matt’s hand to give a slight kiss which Matt likes a bit too much. “She told me before she left the rave that she’s gone to school. To work on something with Lydia, I don’t know.” 

“Lydia‘s here?” He questions. 

“Will that be a problem?” Stiles asks, opening the back door for Jackson. Stiles knows Matt isn’t entirely trusting of him yet, but having Jackson there to protect him from anything must give him ease. Stiles isn’t entirely bothered, he won’t die from a mere kanima. 

“No.” Matt grins at him, “I can punish her too for those years of torment in middle school.” Stiles wants to ask if Matt knew the woman from the rave was pregnant, that he killed an innocent life that hasn’t even started yet. But that’ll be too much, he mustn’t shake the boat too much. So, he simply grins back. 

Stiles holds his hand out to him, important that they remain in contact so when needed he can knock the guy out, but also because holding hands with him isn’t entirely bad. He wonders if he never left Beacon Hills, became friends with Matt, he could prevent all of this. No use dwelling on things that never happened though.

Matt hesitantly takes it and together they walk up slowly. Stiles takes out some keys, keying the door. He hears Matt laugh behind him, “You have a key to the school?” Stiles bites back a laugh, surprisingly not hating this small moment they have. He loves it actually. Like they’re friends about to sneak into the school and mess about just for the fun of it. Once the door unlocks though, he knows this facade is about to fall. 

The school halls are dark and creepy, looking like the opening location of a 90’s teenage horror film. Stiles leads them further in, walking through. 

“Where’s Allison? I can get Jackson to paralyse her first.” He says. 

“Sure, just no killing okay?  _ You’re  _ gonna have to be the one killing, not Jackson.” He lies, knowing if Jackson kills her those scales will grow unless she’s killed before. Matt just nods, believing every word out of Stiles’ mouth. 

They go into the lunch hall, finding Jackson hissing over a frail body on the floor. Matt smiles devilishly, strolling over to the frightened face of Allison’s. “Remember when I said I’m not the kind of guy to say that if I can’t have you, no one can? Well I take it back. If I can’t have you,” his voice goes deep, almost demon-like, “NO ONE CAN!” He roars, grinning. 

Stiles stands behind, watching Allison look at him with betrayal.  _ Hold your horses, I’m on your side here.  _ At that exact moment, a thick smoke erupted into the air, making Matt frown and Jackson confused with his senses. Stiles disappears into the fog, taking Allison’s limp body with him. 

“Stiles? Stiles!” He shouts. Stiles leans Allison a vending machine in the far corner, putting a finger over his lips. Allison, understanding, nods and gestures towards the doors. He shakes his head, pointing to the whereabouts of Matt. Allison then shakes her head, putting two fingers up and pointing to the opposite doors of the lunch hall. Stiles points to Matt again, then closing his eyes and leaning on his hand as if asleep. He then puts two fingers up then pretends to roar, pointing to the floor. He makes innocent eyes, -which makes Allison silently giggle- gesturing for Allison to be taken away. Allison stares daggers at him, pretending to throw a fish hook, pointing to about where the end of the fish hook would be then to herself. Stiles bows, hands clasped together and mouthing sorry over and over. Allison rolls her eyes, gesturing for him to leave. 

( Translation:

Allison - “Run away! Leave me here.”

Stiles - “I can’t! Matt thinks I’m on his side.”

Allison - “It’s fine! Two others are with me. There and there.” 

Stiles - “I’ll pretend to be taken out. At least two werewolves are already here. Scott would be one of them, he’ll take you somewhere safe.

Allison - I’m not letting you get away from using me as bait. 

Stiles - I’m so sorry, forgive me.

Allison -Just go! Leave my sight. ) 

Stiles leaves her side, stealthy walking to behind a table furthest from Allison without a sound and collapsing behind it. He moved downwards a little, making sure his feet were seen. The fog clears a little, Jackson spotting the body. He moves over, Matt following him, gazing at Stiles’ limp body. 

“Stiles…” Matt calls, reaching out. Suddenly, he hears a cry. He turns, a partially shifted werewolf stands with claws deep into Jackson, then another jumps over a table and stabs their way into him, holding him up. The fog is all cleared, as Jackson falls on the floor on his knees. Lydia’s suddenly there, holding him up and crying. Jackson slowly reaches out, at the key in a necklace around Lydia’s neck and worriedly looks over her. “Do you love me?” Jackson questions. 

“Yes. Oh god yes. I love you.” She sobs, clutching him, his blood flowing and sleeping into the floor. Matt, dumbfounded, goes to move to his kanima but halts, hearing the click of a gun and slowly turns to it. A man walks forward, face clearing to be Chris Argent’s, a gun above a crossbow facing at him with menace. 

Matt retreats backwards in fright, hitting someone’s chest in the process. He looks to the side, shocked to see Stiles up and awake. 

“Stiles? Are you okay?”  _ Wow, he’s worrying about me while he has a literal gun to his face.  _ Matt grabs Stiles’ hand, whispering to him. “I’ll run that way, you run the opposite okay?” Stiles nods. 

Matt lets go of him, running for the exit doors. He doesn’t get much distance as Chris shoots an arrow into his leg, making him scream in pain and fall face plant to the floor. Stiles frowns, as much as he believes Matt can redeem himself, he did two things wrong. The boy threatened his gun at Scott and his dad. Made Allison shake and tremble in his arms. He won’t forgive him, ever. His body has been screaming at him to kill Matt, get rid of the threat, screaming at him to protect his loved ones. He kept repeating Guardian Abe’s words in his head, to not kill Matt in his car, to not crush his hand in his hands. Talking to Matt like that, and leading him here, he’s convinced himself it’s a way to protect everyone. It settled the feeling a little, but not enough. Nowhere near enough. And seeing Matt on the floor, struggling with an arrow in his leg, Stiles knows Matt won’t be leaving the lunch hall. It makes him buzz. 

Stiles needs to calm the buzz, electric underneath his skin. He feels so tingly and prickly, he’s sure he’s shaking. But he doesn’t know, he can’t tell, because the next thing he knows he’s by Matt’s side and holding him up by the arm. He places Matt onto a seat with ease, feeling somehow tranquil but frantic and loud all at the same time. Stiles can feel his protectiveness take over, feels it claw at him and shake him from the core. The man in front of him was once a victim, but he’s now a murderer. He could’ve killed his father, Scott, gotten even more obsessed with Allison… he’s hurt a lot of people. 

Stiles doesn’t hear people calling for him, doesn’t feel them trying to get him away from Matt. All Stiles cares about is eliminating a threat. 

So, with blank eyes, he gives Matt a smile. “Stiles? Stiles why didn’t you run-” 

“AHHHH!!” Stiles has taken out the arrow from the leg with a blank expression, holding it in his hand. He watches the blood prickle onto the floor with drops, likes the way it pools together. He looks at Matt with blood thirst, twisting the arrow swiftly in his hand and pulling back, shifting his weight and going for the chest. 

He doesn’t hit a chest though, it goes through a hand, barely grazing Matt’s chest. Stiles looks to the owner, eyes widening as Derek stares at him with a sad face. “Stiles… why? Why?! I thought  _ finally  _ someone understood me!” Matt screams. Stiles turns his attention back to him, frowning. 

“You pointed a gun at my father. At my best friend. You made Allison shake and cry in my arms. What do you mean why? _ ”  _ He mocks, his whole body still shaking, “You put people I care about in danger, and you ask me  _ why?!”  _ He shouts, gripping the arrow, subconsciously making it move deeper in Derek’s hand. He doesn’t notice Derek hiss. Stiles is so angry. So fucking angry. He thinks about breaking the limit placed on him, to watch Matt burn. However, a hand softly lands on the small of his back. He turns to Derek; staring at each other, a small understanding goes through them. Stiles’ brain works a little to remember that Derek was in a relationship with the very person who tried to put his family home on fire. He remembers finding it out, listening in on Hale's backstory in the lunch hall from some gossipers. 

Stiles glances to his hand on the arrow and lets go, leaning back. He turns back to Derek’s face -not noticing everyone in the hall watching him- searching the man’s face. Derek fills him with compassion. Stiles turns his attention back to Matt, a pool of blood underneath his leg. 

“I did understand. I understand that darkness, surviving from something but still falling prey to it everyday. I understand feeling powerless, being disgusted at. I understand loving someone who will never love you back. I meant every word I said at the station, everything except for what I said about Allison.” 

He leans forward, “You will stop drowning.” Once a kanima change starts, it can not be stopped. The moment those patches of scales appeared on Matt’s skin, his fate was sealed. He’s not like Jackson who had the tiniest bit of hope, turned from a bite, he’s someone forcibly turned from the universe. It’s the universe’s command. 

Stiles leans, touching foreheads with Matt. “Your nightmare will end soon.” He whispers. A tear falls down his left eye, anger replaced with sadness. God, he hates feeling these extremes. 

“You need to be punished Matt. It’s your turn.” 

Silence. 

“When I turn into a kanima, you’ll still be my master right?” Matt questions, staring into his eyes. The question quiets his buzz, feeling the urge to protect Matt too. He hates it, one minute he wants to stab into the body 50 times, next minute he wants to protect him with everything he has. They’re too similar; They understand each other, Stiles can tell, the way Matt sunk into him at the station, gripping his hand now and then, the way he looks up at him right now. 

“Yes.” He breathes, voice raspy. 

“Punish Allison for me.” He simply says, as Stiles rubs their noses a little and leans back. He goes to stand next to Derek, the man’s hand still on his back. Derek moves, as if to move his hand away but Stiles leans into his shoulder, clutching onto his Henley. They don’t say anything. No one says anything. 

“God. I have more people here than I’ve ever talked to in my life.” Matt chuckles. Stiles joins, the only one who seems to find it funny too. 

Matt looks up, collapsing his arms by his side.  “To think I’d die in the second place I’ve ever hated. Hey, at least I’m not in water.” He chuckles again, a tear goes down his eyes. 

“I don’t want to die.” He whispers, “I don’t want to die.” 

Stiles can’t take it, hearing him beg like that, knowing even right now Matt can’t do anything about it. He hides his face into Derek’s neck, feel the man wrap his arm around his waist and pull him in. Stiles doesn’t notice, all he can hear is Matt’s voice. 

“Fuck I don’t want to die.” He sniffles, “I still haven’t gone to college, go to class for photography, move far away where no one knows me, I haven’t… stopped gasping.” He closes his eyes, “I have this weird dream where I told my parents what happened. That I got help. That it takes so long for me to get better but I do. That I meet someone sweet and we get married, maybe have kids, have an amazing house with pictures I’ve taken framed throughout the halls. This strange dream where I’m happy. I haven’t done any of it… I haven’t even started. This… this can’t be it.” He tries to move his bleeding leg, screaming in pain before collapsing again. 

“This… can’t be it.” He mutters to himself. 

Silence. 

He then looks to Isaac, gently smiling. “I never did thank you for all the trades.” He looks at Allison, “729373 is the code to my locker in the photography room.” 

He then looks over to Stiles, hiding himself into Derek.

“Stiles, remember what you said in that horrible jeep of yours?” Stiles slowly looks at him, releasing himself from Derek. His cheeks are a bit red, not as bad as the whole hall thought he would look. 

“Yes.” Stiles says, the urge to protect so strong he has to grip Derek’s arm to not grab Matt and teleport somewhere else. 

“Did you mean it?” Stiles nods.

“Yes I did.” 

“Good.” Matt replies. Matt looks up again, biting his lower lip, “That’s good. Really good.” 

Stiles watches him smile a little as a bullet forces itself through his chest. Then another. Stiles watches Matt gasping for breaths a few moments then completely stills. Frozen. Stiles slowly moves over, ignoring the buzz getting louder and louder and shakier. He feels so conflicted, his extreme emotions to eliminate and protect barrelling into each other, his chest feeling so heavy he can barely breathe. His emotion limits are still on, meaning whatever he’s feeling is actually way worse.  _ God.  _ Matt is dead. He feels another gaping hole in his chest. 

He doesn’t know what’s happening. Everything is spiralling, his head hurts, banging and his ears are ringing so loudly. His satisfaction of assisting in eliminating the danger and terrible guilt of failing to protect tears at each other. He feels himself practically tear, the electric makes him shake so much. The world is spinning, he feels nauseous and he’s so  _ fucking jittery  _ he’s sure he exploded a few light bulbs. He looks over at Matt, seeing flashes of his mother on her deathbed and Sunny’s corpse laying on the grass in replacement and that’s all he can take. Everything goes black, doesn’t feel the arms and chest wrapped around him tightly or the screams and shouts that seem to just echo away. 

_ “That’s really good.”  _ He hears Matt whisper next to his ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember writing the end and crying as I listened to a slow version of Harry Styles’ song “Sign of the times”. 
> 
> I feel deeply for Matt, someone who died the same way he almost did, the same way it haunted him because of stupid wrinkly gerard- UGH 
> 
> He did still murder though. He did terrible things. As Stiles says, it was his turn to be punished. 
> 
> I thought about putting the translation for the hand gestures between Allison and Stiles here but then I realised not everyone reads the end notes :(
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed! <3


	5. You'll be a fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING : Description of burning and fire. 
> 
> Hello everyone!
> 
> It has been a while hasn't it? For those still reading this and waiting for updates, thank you for staying even though the journey for a new chapter has been so terribly long. I apologise dearly if it seems I've abandoned or discontinued this work. Since my last chapter publish in July, a lot of various things have happened, or well, gotten worse. I shall not go into detail of my pitiful self and troublesome life as this message is to convey how happy I am to write this work. I know this is only chapter five, but I have had so much fun writing these chapters so far and I can not wait to write even more in the future and see it finished. I really want to finish what I started, for the first time. So please, if updates are taking long, I am so terribly sorry and I hope you can stay and wait, as I have some difficulties that'll get in the way of my writing path, but it will not stop me. I will publish a chapter, please be there to read it. 
> 
> Of course not only do I have these difficulties, I also have school. School have been very time consuming lately and that will not change for a long while, so please factor that in, in case of a new chapter drought. If you can not wait, that is okay too. As a reader myself, non-consistent updates can be one of the most likeliest reasons to drop a work- you forget the plot over the waiting period, and the same excitement you feel for consistent updates is nowhere near the same as a work you've forgotten that suddenly has an update. We're all quite busy people, looking for other works to satisfy us to read will not be hard. 
> 
> Still, I hope for those few still reading this, that you enjoy it as much as you can. I have not given up on this work, so I hope you won't too. 
> 
> I hope everyone is safe and content, drinking water and eating foods they desire and need. That everyone has a warm bed to sleep in, people to love and be loved back, and that we are satisfied with ourselves as we can be. Have a happy Halloween, and for those who not celebrate Halloween, have a great continued tradition, and for those who do not celebrate any traditions at all on this day, have a wonderful day. 
> 
> Till next time, Camille.

  
Derek gingerly places the teenager onto the soft feather mattress, not wanting to wake him up. In the midst of mostly everyone crowding him and the boy at his collapse, their panicked gasps turned to relief at the slight snores that resounded throughout the cafeteria seconds after. Derek felt slight relief, for the boy’s state was just due to exhaustion, but, after two whole days of his unmoving form, he felt worried.

After many attempts of waking the boy up, none were successful. Not even a powerful smack from Xavier did the job- and those smacks can even wake someone up from the dead. They would listen to his small breathing, making sure Xavier has not slapped him into death rather than wake him up from his comatose state. People were afraid to touch him after, the body seeming so fragile and vulnerable. The sheriff was not as shaken as everyone else, which was very suspicious to Derek. The man assured everyone the waking of his son very soon. 

On the third day, all the adults, now including Xavier and Laura, plus the sheriff, resided in Nicholas’ large office that was mostly used for pack meetings. Everyone knew why that is, however, Laura’s presence? Understandable. Xavier’s? Pure confusion. There is more going on than they are letting on. Especially seeing his grandma secretly enter the room half an hour later, as if she’s not supposed to be attending. Usually it would drive Derek mad not being included and pry his dad for information, maybe even for some of Peter’s confusing puzzle speech, but as he stares down at the frozen, yet alive form of the boy he more than likely used to be platonically enamoured with, he can’t help but just sit by and watch. More than once fantasising about him waking up, grinning wickedly up at him and teasing with “Derbear.” If his family smelled him strongly in the room when they entered, they never mentioned anything of the like. He’s thankful for that. 

On the fourth day, a doctor and Deaton were called over. After Deaton has not found any supernatural explanations to the boy’s stubbornness to wake up, they have reluctantly called a normal human doctor which the pack had connections to, hoping to find some sort of answers. The doctor could not find anything wrong, urged them to bring the sleeping beauty to the hospital for more tests, but that just earned him grunts and a push out the front door with a quiet “thank you” from the Sheriff. 

“Stiles had a personal doctor up in Poland. I’ll call.” 

After the said phone call, the sheriff now became a frantic, terrible state. It’s like Stiles fainting was a norm, which would’ve calmed Derek somewhat if it wasn’t for the panicked expression on the sheriff’s face when both Deaton and the human doctor had no idea why Stiles wasn't waking up. He guesses the sheriff’s son has never slept for this long. 

The polish doctor instructed to not move Stiles from his current position, nor touch, to wait for her arrival as she will get there as soon as possible. Derek wonders what kind of doctor will up and leave the country for a former patient… It didn’t stay long on his mind however, as Kira came over for a visit. 

“You know, you can’t avoid Victoria forever.” She starts, as the two sit on Derek’s balcony, both with cans of beer in hand. 

“Victoria?” 

“She’s been texting and calling me, worried, says you haven’t talked to her at all for about a week now.” Derek immediately grunts, looking away. 

“I’m not telling you to speak to her right now, but it’s your decision if things will be awkward or not when she comes back for the holidays.” She giggles at him, nudging him with an elbow and an annoying wink. 

“I don’t know about her Kira.” He trails off, looking over at his best friend, somewhat glad at the soft and understanding expression she gives back. 

“Well, do you love her?” 

“Yes. I just… I don’t know Keer.” She is silent, which puts him on a lot of edge, but thankfully she changes the subject. 

“How is he?” She questions instead.

“Nothing yet.” He quickly relaxes, taking a splurge of the drink and looking over the woods, trying to avoid the bright sunshine’s rays. 

“Mhm.” She eyes him a little, before smirking. “You’re worried. For a human.” 

“He was in the middle of pack business. It’s partially our fault he’s like this, of course I am.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Derek growls deeply in his chest, greatly disapproving where the conversation was leading. “Kira.”

“You know, as quiet and grumpy as you are, you wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re very easy to read.” Derek bites down the threatening growl that almost escaped his lips, those words a little too similar and familiar to him; they were words that were spat on his face, followed by how naive and gullible he was. Thinking about Kate again has put him in a rather bad mood, it always does. 

So, instead of replying in an uncontrollable rage, he aggressively crushes the can in hand and strolls back in; Angry at himself for always almost losing control at the very thought of her, but also furious at how right Kira had been. She always is. He hates and loves that about her. 

* * *

There it is, that white light. Am I dead? 

The light fades slowly, showcasing a dim blue. There are no clouds, no moonlight, just blue. Stiles looks down, scanning his surroundings. All around him, stretched to the horizon, are tall fields of golden wheat. Stiles stretches out a hand, grazing a finger against a stem, feeling the smooth line of where it curves to hold little beads of grain. There’s floating orbs of electricity and lines of glowing yellow stretch into a web beneath him; feeling a shot of something warm, tingly and familiar through his body when he reaches for it. 

Stiles looks down at himself, watches silk form to cover his skin and spread their pure white everywhere. He’s in satin, enveloping him around his curves, parts of his torso showing. He brings a palm to stretch in front of him and for a moment he sees a reflection of his face: white eyes, golden hair, pink lips. He looks off other worlds- a being that doesn’t exist here nor there. He feels oddly calm at this new experience, satisfying even, like when he’s finally taken off the Halloween make up he’s slept in the night before. 

“Well, you look different.” He hears a soft voice behind him. He turns, a smile itching on his lips at the sight of Matt, in his usual layers of brown and leather. 

“And you look the same.” He counters back. Matt gives him a smile, walking towards him. He trails his pupils to the sky and the horizon before sitting flat on his bum, leaning against an elbow. 

“Is this what you really look like?” He asks with an amused tone, patting the spot next to him. 

Stiles carefully brushes away a few plants and sits. He then touches his golden hair, watching it grow between his fingertips all the way to his waist. He strokes it, the soft sheen of the material seeming unreal, especially coming from him. 

“Woah, what did I just watch?” Matt then chuckles, laying flat down to look at the empty sky. 

“I don’t know myself.” Stiles answers to both questions. He feels a slight burn near his waist, pulling the silk covering him up to check. There’s gold laced into his skin, in patterns and shapes he’s never seen before. It grows, reaching to his shoulder, down his back to further etch itself down his legs, even to his fingertips. It’s everywhere, just like the veins of a tree; grounded deep underground to the tips of a leaf. Carrying everything throughout the body, the stems of life. 

“You’re not actually an abominable snowman are you?” Stiles giggles, dropping his shirt and focusing on the glowing white patterns on his hands instead. 

“You? Are you even real?” Stiles questions, wondering if Matt is some sort of illusion. Matt gives him a thoughtful look before replying.

“I’d like to think so? I feel real.” He touches his chest, face and hair. “Don’t tell me I’m growing gold hair too?” He mocks. 

Stiles swats his arm, feeling a tad bit offended. “You’ll never have the pleasure to.” 

“You never know, maybe my powerful kanima powers would’ve allowed me to.” He chuckles, making Stiles smile a little. Stiles looks around for any changes, yet nothing, just small amounts of wind blowing against him and the field. 

“Where are we?” Stiles asks. 

“I don’t know. I’ve been walking for as long as I can remember.” Matt replies. “I just remember the ceiling of the cafeteria then when I blinked I was here.” So it’s true, Matt is truly dead. Is this some sort of place where the dead cross? What does that make Stiles? 

“What about me?” He asks, more to himself. 

“I don’t think you’re dead. Especially looking like that.” He pauses, “Stiles, what are you?” He questions. 

Stiles looks over, “I’m a spark.” Matt is silent, urging him on, “I don’t exactly know what I am. I’m rare, powerful, driven by emotions, I can pretty much do anything as long as my emotion wills it, my connection to magic is way stronger than others- it’s always there.” He strokes the golden lines on his thumb, “It’s been 9 years and I still have no idea what I am or what I can actually do. Only a spark knows what a spark is.” He mutters the last mockingly, impersonating the same words his headmaster used to always repeat to him in his frustrating breakdowns. 

All those years in Mierdo were of him memorising chants, to be in control of his emotions, train a strong body for his powerful essence, be taught leader skills and everything in between. Yet, he always felt like he was just another magician from the back of his mind. Nothing made him feel like a spark. Like when he awakened when he was 7, he felt so in sync with everything. He can’t explain it, everything felt right. Or when he’d sit on the creek with Abe and feel his magic buzz in fluid motions across his body, in and out into the atmosphere, like everything fit just right and everything as it should be. Or even right now. He feels so much more like a spark than he’s ever felt, despite not knowing why and how. 

“Scott didn’t know did he? No one did.” Matt mentions nonchalantly, not a tease to his voice. 

“No one did, except for my dad. Well he doesn’t know much, just that I can levitate him whenever I want and explode light bulbs. Oh, when I burned everything I stepped on after my mother died, that too.” He mentions the latter as an afterthought, making Matt shake his shoulders in a fit of laughter. Matt probably thinks he’s exaggerating. God how much he wishes that were true.

“Can you show me something?” Matt asks, “Come on! I’m dead anyways I won’t be able to snitch on you.” 

“I don’t know. I can do something small? I have limit spells and concealed charms so I can’t do anything big.” He stands up, placing a golden strand behind his ear- Woah, he’s never thought he’s had to do that. 

“Small? You literally have white eyes right now which is kind of scary. Plus how are you sure they work here?” Matt gestures to their surroundings. True, whatever this place is Stiles can feel that familiar tingle of magic everywhere. Then, he thinks of something. 

“Can you see it? The glowing electric orbs? The lines on the floor?” Matt gives him a confused look, shaking his head. 

Stiles thinks of chanting something, but when he closes his eyes and imagines a red fire coating his hands he feels a sudden light heat. He opens them, watching his hands on fire flow in the wind. 

“Woah! What the fuck dude.” Stiles widens his mouth in shock, he’s always needed to chant something for at least a little flame on his fingers lit. Stiles steps backwards, imagining the fire coating his whole body from the thin golden baby hairs on his scalp to the nails on his toes. He opens them again, in shock and excitement at the sight of his whole body on fire, not hurting even slightly. His whites of satin are not seemingly bothered at all. There’s a slight heat that he barely notices and his magic is so happy. Happy? How do I know it’s happy? His magic is buzzing excitedly, glowing orbs around them even more electrifying, the lines beneath him glowing brighter. 

“That’s..” Matt trails off, too shocked to say anything. Stiles imagines the fire fade away, leaving his skin. The heat disappears. He goes to sit next to Matt again, can’t help smiling at how shocked Matt seems, how shocked he himself is. 

“You could do all that? And you talked about being powerless? LIES! Lies I tell you.” He has a hand clasped over his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief at what had just occurred. 

“That was the first time I've done that. I don’t think there are any limits on me right now.” He plays with his golden hair, deep in thought. Is this what he is, what he awakened to be 9 years ago? 

Matt is silent. 

“Why do you think we’re here?” He changes the subject. 

“I don’t know.” Stiles imagines the flame again, making it dance in his palm. “Maybe this is just a little stop before dancing with the angels for you.” He jokes. 

“You and I both know that if heaven and hell exists, it won’t be heaven I’ll be going to.” Stiles clamps his mouth shut. 

“I’m sorry Stiles. I’m sorry for threatening you, your father and your best friend.” Matt starts sincerely, “I’m sorry to Allison for hurting her, I’m sorry to my parents for how I turned out, I’m sorry for killing all those people, for burdening Jackson with all of this.” There’s a comfortable silence that goes over them, “I’m sorry to myself, for letting myself down. Letting myself lose control, not letting myself just breathe. I’m sorry to everyone I hurt, including myself.” He breathes out, voice a bit shaky. 

They don’t touch this time, Stiles simply nodding without a glance towards the other. He doesn’t know how long they sat in silence, listening to the winds brush against them. Matt then stands, looking at Stiles momentarily before towards the distance.

“It’s time for me to go. Goodbye.” He simply states, turning on his shoe and walking to the opposite direction he came. Stiles watches his back grow smaller and smaller into the distance until the tiny little brown dot disappears. 

Stiles can tell Matt has truly stopped drowning the moment he let those words out. The way his body just relaxes, like an enormous weight tying him down for years lifted. On the other hand, Matt’s existence ended many and without a doubt Stiles knows the universe will balance things out. It always does. 

Matt knows Stiles hasn’t forgiven him for it all. But even with it Stiles also felt sad for him. It makes Stiles realise that not everything is black and white, you don’t feel just one emotion: it’s all tied together in a spinning whirlpool. A villain isn’t just evil- they’re everything in between too. Same with the good hero everyone thinks is perfect and so lawfully and morally good. 

He feels being here, his magic is telling him something, about emotions. About where his miracles sprout from. Why does he have golden hair and white eyes? Why does controlling his emotions and magic seem so much easier than ever before? 

Stiles stands after a while of thoughts circling him in a never ending black hole, feeling his feet against the golden sprouts of grass. He walks and walks and walks. He doesn’t know how long, just connecting to everything around him, feeling more in tune with that electrifying feeling. 

* * *

On the sixth day, the polish doctor came around 10 in the morning, formal and commanding, with a little bit of uneasiness that none of the werewolves could smell. She’s a skinny, rather short, brown-skinned lady, her long curls of chestnut and blonde tied up into a loose ponytail. She greeted everyone with a business smile- everyone with the exclusion of those younger than Derek- except for the Sheriff, at which the pair shared a warm, welcoming hug. She then immediately asked to be shown Stiles. 

At the sight of Stiles, she did not falter nor panic. Instead, she smiled. She suddenly turns, speaking the very first words besides her name and Stiles’. “I will not be long.” She informs the group, clicking the door shut behind her. 

It’s twenty minutes before she emerges from behind the bedroom door, urging Derek’s mother and the sheriff to come in and the rest to leave. She’s quite demanding in a house that isn’t hers, but then again maybe having such a standing and authority as a Doctor does that to you. 

So Derek left, with conflicting feelings and worst of all, immense worry for a stranger. He trained with Erica and Boyd, then played some video games with Isaac and Scott, all in attempts to get the boy out of his mind - the need to question the doctor and know if Stiles is going to be okay. He hates it.

Derek dreamed of Stiles that night. Dreamed of them playing in the parks and woods as they did in their pubescent years, except this time, they’re in their current tall and matured age. 

Derek bends down in front of the boy, which the said boy giggles at, then Stiles cautiously wraps his legs around the man’s torso and arms around the shoulder. They race through the woods with the giggling boy riding on Derek’s back, a smile etched on the werewolf that he hasn’t had in a long time. 

Derek trips over a bark on the forest floor, propelling them backwards into the soft grass. Derek groans in more annoyance than pain, reaching up to make sure Stiles is okay. 

Except, he can’t. He can’t move at all. 

He quickly blinks his eyes in panic, finding himself laying frozen back on the burgundy carpet of the sheriff’s station. He’s back in that moment of Matt’s heart-breaking monologue, his claws digging deep into his thigh to trigger some healing process with Stiles on the chair above him. 

He feels the sudden chill in his body as Stiles stands and walks gracefully over the tormented boy, remembering how frightful and sharp his words were. How Stiles twists and turns his way into Matt’s head, just like how Kate had done to him. 

In minutes, Stiles has Matt wrapped around his finger, manipulated his way into trust, just like Kate did. 

Without warning, Stiles is above him, peering down with a wicked evil smirk, which stretches into an almost torturing smile as the boy trails his pupils down Derek. 

“You became powerless to your own mind.” Booms Stiles voice, feeling his breath on the tip of the wolf’s nose, “It took every piece of you with every dream and gasping breath.” He slithers closer, whispering right into his ear, “Even though you survived, _you still felt like you were burning over and over._ ” 

A scream. Suddenly, screams of terror echoes from every corner. Cora’s screams. Derek quickly stands to find himself in the Hale house, burning to ashes, his sister stuck under massive piles of rubble, blood pooling beneath her. Her fangs are released and nails claw at the wooden floor desperately. Derek moves to help with a gasp, halting abruptly when he hears his mother’s screams. Then Laura’s. Then his father’s, followed by Malia’s and Xavier’s. Within moments everyone’s screams overlap each other, echoing and bouncing off walls with each of Derek’s choked back sobs. Trembling, he covers his ears with a defeated growl and howls for help, for safety. 

Stiles calmly steps forward next to him, a hand on Derek’s shoulder lands gently. “I am here to tell you, you don’t have to keep fighting anymore.” Derek feels him shuffle to loom over him, the boy’s lips grazing his sensitive ears. “Share it with me Derek, I’ll help you. Our bond will be unlike any other.” The boy swiftly stands, stepping over Kira’s corpse, before twirling himself in the black smoke and flames. Derek watches Stiles dance in the midst of disaster, his family burning and clawing for help, his mind screaming at him to help his family, however, he can not tear his gaze away from the boy’s beautiful form.

_“You’ll be a fury.”_

After that dream, Derek hates Stiles more than ever. More accurately, Stiles’ existence scared him. There’s so much he doesn’t understand, especially since the teenager’s so human, yet he’s way more mysterious than anything magical he’s come across. The unknown terrifies him. 

He tries to steer clear away from that room as much as possible, but it would be a lie to say the desire to see him every second is so overwhelming he has to slap himself out of a trance every time he walks past the room. Oh moonlight, he’s been bewitched. 

* * *

Stiles has been walking around for what seems like forever. He halts, getting an idea. _Just how powerful am I?_ He closes his eyes, willing for fire to spread throughout his body then to the grass surrounding his feet, spreading it further and further as he can. Once he opens his eyes, he’s absolutely stunned at the sight. 

Everything around him is in flames. From the horizon to the other. Hot, burning flames. If he wills it he can make it grow further. He then imagines the wind, cutting the air and washing over the flames like a blanket. He stares in amazement as the fire disappears instantly. The wheats grow back in their respective places in mere milliseconds. 

He explores his magic, watching the field crumble underneath his feet, staring in top concentration as he ties two wheat stalks together into a bow with his mind, levitating himself (he’s never been able to do that before), clamping together bits of earth and shaping it in the air into darts and poor replicas of daggers. He focuses on his energy essence, feeling it more calm than he’s ever felt. His spirit is finally settled. He can feel his mind, body and spirit fuse together in one perfect harmony, making the gold lines tattooed onto his skin glow white and his hair shine. His skin is a beautiful tan, eyes still white. The usual buzz underneath his skin is no longer there, it’s presence only returning upon his usage of magic. 

He wonders if he’ll go back, or if he’ll never, in a realm where he was supposed to go from the moment his fate was sealed. He’s wondered if Sunny or his mother was here, quickly throwing it away as Matt being a one off. I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

He doesn’t know long he’s been here, but he’s started to miss his father, Scott, Melissa and even Derek. He remembers the way Derek held him and comforted without a word, it makes him want to hurry back and say thank you. He misses Laura, Esme and Xavier, and misses Mierdo, his friends. 

He mainly focuses on himself though, strengthening his body and mind with a few exercises and meditating as much as he can. He doesn’t feel tired, hungry or thirsty at all, no matter how many push ups he does. It’s a bit weird but he isn’t complaining. 

After a while of levitating himself and cutting wheat stalks as cleanly, sharp and close together as possible, he lays and closes his eyes. He feels the sweat fade away, that buzz fade away and be replaced with warmth, and for the first time since he’s been here, he falls asleep. 

* * *

After a few days of constant entering the house for Stiles, Ms Nowak has not asked any specific questions that didn’t regard Stiles. She didn’t ask why Stiles slept in someone else’s house, or why he even fainted. Except she asked his diet, if he’s been meditating, how much he’s been painting, how much exercise etc. Derek heard all this from Xavier of course, as he has not gone anywhere near the room the past two days. 

As the two play chess, with Xavier gossiping exaggeratingly and Derek pretending to listen, a knock is heard in the library. They simultaneously whip to the door, knowing by the smell and footsteps who it already is, waiting for them to come in. Knocks are for courteous purposes in the Hale household. 

“What is it Malia?” 

“Derek’s been asked to go to Aunt Talia’s office.” 

“Why?” Xavier questions. 

“I don’t know.” Malia looks exhausted, probably from being out all night before with Cora. 

Derek nods silently and stands, walking away from the chessboard. “Malia, take his place?” He hears behind him, followed by a very long exaggerated groan. Derek walks into the office, surprised to find Ms Nowak there. Her, his mum, grandma and the sheriff there. 

“Hi Derek,” Ms Nowak steps forward, “I’m Dr Nowak.” 

“Please Derek sit down.” His mother says. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek questions his mother, very confused. 

“I understand it was you who caught Stiles before he reached the ground?” Dr Nowak speaks instead. 

“yes?” 

“Hm, interesting…” Dr Nowak mumbles under her breath. Everyone except for the sheriff hears it. 

“How close would you say you and Stiles are?” 

“Why?” Derek is beginning to be very suspicious of her. 

“Just, mild curiosity.” She gives a smile, as real as she can fake it to be. 

“I wouldn’t say we’re close… but we’re acquainted with each other.” 

“How about before?” 

“Before?” 

“When Stiles used to live here as a child.” 

“Well…”

“Quite close,” his grandma interrupts, “they played almost everyday and were very fond of each other.” Derek doesn’t let such embarrassment over nothing take over him. 

“May I ask why you two aren’t as close anymore?” 

This time, he firmly replies. “He moved countries without telling me. We didn’t even know how to contact him. Years go by and he just becomes a childhood memory. I never would’ve thought he’d return.” 

“Thank you for answering my questions Derek.” She says. 

“I don’t get what this has to do with-” 

“Everything has to do with it.” She interrupts him. 

“Okay?” Derek feels very awkward. 

“Thank you Derek, you may go.” His mother says. They’re silent all the way to his awkward journey to the door, closing it behind him, and his walk away. That was weird. 

Later that day, his grandma catches him on his balcony sketching, some wonderful jazz playing in the background and the room is filled with forest and musky smells. She silently seats herself next to him, looking out into the forest. 

“You have questions.” 

Derek denies. “Not particularly.”

“Oh don’t give me that rubbish.” Derek deeply sighs. He can never hide anything from his grandma Irma. 

“How long have you known Stiles’ family?” 

“ You know the answer to that my dear. Come on, ask me the important questions.” She turns to look at him, softly placing her hand over the hand hovering the sketchbook.

“Okay, what is your relationship with the Stilisnkis?” He continues shading.

“Friends.” Derek’s wrist stills.

“How did this relationship come about?”

“Through love.”

“Love?” Derek looks up to his grandmother for the first time since she’s sat down next to him.

“Yes, love.” At that moment, Derek started questioning everything that ties him and Stiles together. 

“What? What do you mean love -”

“That’s all I have time for! I’ve got bingo with the ladies. So, excuse me my dear.” Derek watches in disbelief as his grandma confidently strides to Derek’s bedroom door without even a glance, then, she stops. “Derek, not everyone is an enemy as you may think. It’s okay to care.”

When his grandma left, he got more curious than ever. His grandma never answers the questions that need to be answered. She never gives out freebies. He also can not stop thinking about those final words, as if she can see deep into his mind and know it’s nuts and screws, how much to oil and turn for her desired result.

This… this is all so utterly ridiculous, he thinks.

  


* * *

When Stiles awoke, he expected the infinite dim of the blue sky and the gold of the wheats tickling his sides, not the concrete ceiling and the comfortable weight of a mattress beneath him instead of the earth floor. 

He blinks, half expecting to be back in that place, the existence of his backside on a mattress being a mere illusion. When he shifts and grips the duvet over him however, he knows he’s definitely back in his world- the human world.

He elbows himself up to a sitting position, feeling his bones crack and muscles expand beneath him. Scanning the room, he finds himself in a queen sized bed of purple and silver, a small drawer next to him with his rings and chains lying cold and untouched, opposite a tall wooden door. Next to it sits a desk, a circled purple mirror on top of it with a small pile of clothes on the side. There’s a shut closet right next to the stretched out windows of glass from just below the ceiling to the floor, silver curtains drawn. Another door stands next to it. The room is not familiar, however, after trying to rank his brain up of memories he vaguely remembers the smell of Derek wrapping around him before completely passing out.  
 _I must be in the Hale House._

He doesn’t particularly feel happy being back, nor anywhere near upset. Mostly… emptiness.   
He spends a few minutes trying to remember as much as he can, the events feeling like months ago. He wonders if the place he went to messes up your own perception of time; Matt himself had no idea how long he walked- he too has no clue how long he’s been travelling learning more and more about himself. Sometimes he’s sure Matt was an illusion, a trick of his own mind to comfort him and settle the disputing extreme emotions, but he can never be able to imagine Matt laughing so happily like that: the way his eyes danced and laughed with it- It’s not something he’s seen before. Every time he thought of Matt, this small hole in his chest ached, yet it’s so small he barely notices unless he focuses. He’s stopped thinking of the boy ages ago, knowing wherever he may go he’ll deserve all of it. Good or bad. They’re in two completely separate paths, paths which have crossed, and are now moving on with their own journeys. _God when did I get all philosophical?_

Stiles feels weird in a way, being back confuses his senses. The loss of the electrifying orbs and glowing white lines messes up his head, not used to the dimmed version of magic around him. His ears are ringing and there’s a resounding pound in his head. He can feel the ley lines strong and unyielding from the deep depths of the Hale property, way stronger than other places in Beacon Hills yet it’s still nothing compared to the power from the blue world. Blue sounds right. 

Blue had the purest of energy, wrapping itself in every nook and corner of the air and down between the dirt. Stiles felt like he was energy himself, the lines on his body continuing to glow without a dim or fade. Standing, he takes a quick peek behind the curtain, finding pure darkness before focusing with a few deep breaths. There’s that familiar low heat again. He opens his eyes, grinning widely at the flame enveloping his long hand, as the same gold lines of patterns tattooed onto his skin appear to glow white. 

The presence of the strong ley lines would’ve covered him, but anything stronger than this and his existence would be known. _Wait, why should I hide this anymore?_ He quickly shakes the thought away, feeling stupid to even doubt. He’s different from the Stiles before he collapsed, he needs to understand everything that’s changed that’s not his magic before telling anyone anything. Who knows the consequences of even entering Blue? The fact that he can not feel the limits placed on him or the lack of the concealment charm placed on his ankle puts him on edge. 

Then, he knows before he feels, the strong temporary concealment charm around the ring of his thumb. The ring he never takes off. He knows this familiarity, this magic, wounds have been healed many times by it. Ms.Nowak was here. And cue Stiles’ string of curses in many languages, mostly in Polish and Italian. 

He is fucked. He is absolutely fucked. 

Walking to the door next to the windows, he clicks it open, glad to find the mosaic purple tiles of the bathroom. Turning the tap, he quickly splashes his face with cold water, clearing his mind a bit more. He chooses to not dwell on the matter any longer or he’ll be in great annoyance. He can not change the past, he must choose how to act from now on. 

Staring intently at himself in the mirror, he is shocked to find amber eyes and brown hair staring right back at him. He’s gotten so used to the reflection of long golden hair and white eyes those few times he holds his palm up too quickly: as if making him transparent and reflective.

As he places the many rings back on his fingers, the necklaces to sit around his neck too, he thinks of how to go about the situation. Firstly, he needs to know how long he’s been out. The concealment charm hasn’t been placed on him that long, around more than a week. He stills. He’s always been sensitive to magic but not this sensitive to know when they could’ve been activated. He’s definitely grown stronger. He doubts the concealment charm will do its job any longer. 

So Ms.Nowak has been in Beacon Hills for a while, as by going what he knows about her, she won’t leave until he wakes. Well that also depends on how long he’s exactly been asleep for- his hair hasn’t grown any significantly longer and his clothes do not smell, so he must’ve been asleep long enough for the need of a change. Maybe three to four weeks? She’s probably still here then. 

Secondly, the lack of limits and charms that was placed on him. Did he subconsciously break them? His actions from Blue definitely affected him here in his “brown hair and amber eyes” form as that fire ignited easily like that was definitely not possible before. Well the death of his mother is a separate case- his magic controlled him rather than the case now, magic flowing through him as easily as breathing. He’s grown more powerful and much more attuned to his magic and the magic around him. His control with it is completely insane. He’s gone from level 20 where normal humans are about an 8, straight to level 50. Maybe he can use this quick growth for his argument? 

Lightly hitting a small black bag with his foot by accident, he looks through it curiously, ruffling through clothes and undergarments. Then there’s his phone. With a quick “yes” he grabs for it, groaning as the screen won’t lit. 

Once his phone is charging, he’s back in bed, too tired to think or even move. His body is exhausted and all that thinking made his mind more tired than it’s ever been. His muscles are more toned through the fabric of his t-shirt and he’s a bit taller. How’s he going to explain that when all he’s done is lay in bed for a few weeks? Groaning in annoyance, he reaches over once his phone has lit up. He blinks at it, screening 4:30am with a family picture of his mother, father and babcia in Malaysia. He smiles thinking of his mother, knowing she’ll be moaning at him for how irresponsible he’s been to collapse like that. Swatting him on the arm as she complains how much her boy just simply can’t run away from danger. If there’s trouble, it’s likely he’s in the centre of it all. It’s the same, even now. 

He wonders if his Babcia has heard the news. Well, it’s evident she hasn’t or she’ll be right here, right now next to him. It won’t take long for her to though, teleporting here in her old age and going to sleep straight away from how much the two second travel drained her. He needs to talk to her before that. 

He shifts to the side, about to fall back asleep, when he suddenly hears a howl outside. Sitting up, he strolls to the drawn curtains and peeks, looking for some sort of creature that made the sound. It’s probably one of the Hales, having a casual 4am run. Totally casual. Stiles chuckles to himself, the curiosity too strong to ignore and soon he’s opened the door across his bed. 

When he steps out, he’s in a hallway with two other doors at either side, his at the very end. He walks to the end, following the hallway with just walls that turn into a bigger corridor with even more doors- _Bloody hell, how big is this house?_ He continues. He steps upon a set of stairs that twists on the way down, seeing the familiar bottom floor of the Hale house. It takes him a while to step to the familiar doors of the living room, having to cross the entire length of the mansion. 

He hears the sounds of fake audience laughter through the sliding doors, opening them to find a lot of people bundled up in the room. What’s even more shocking is the presence of Jackson and Lydia, asleep next to each other on a couch. _He didn’t die huh._ Scott and Isaac are laying all over each other on the same one, though barely touching the couple. Erica and Boyd are on a mattress, laying next to each other with a thin blanket, Malia next to Erica with a leg hanging off. Cora is asleep on another couch, laid flat with legs on top Esme and Laura with the older one leaning on the side cushion. Xavier is nowhere to be seen, nor is Derek. The television is on, playing some weird channel show about finding the suitable bachelor.

He tiptoes around with a fond expression on his face, jokingly poking Scott’s side with no surprise when the boy doesn’t even flinch. Scott is a deep sleeper, 3 firm slaps against his cheek only made him twitch his nose. 

He goes to the front door, keeping it ajar behind him as he walks towards the howl he momentarily heard again before in the living room. It’s nowhere as chilly as back in that place where the wind whooshed around him every second, but it’s chilly nonetheless.

He’s by the wood line now, grass tickling his toes. He looks off into the woods, seeing a dark figure in the distance. He watches it turn and run off, and Stiles quickly marches after it. He ignores the prickly roots itching his skin and the rough grazes of rocks as he runs after it. In quite deep now, he scans around for any sign of the wolf. As far as he can tell, that figure was definitely not of a human. He’s seen the werewolves shift, the fur and claws- It looks like a regular old wolf. He’s been told werewolves can only fully shift into a wolf during a full moon. And that glowing crescent in the skies definitely was not a full moon. 

Not watching where he steps, his heel slides against a sharp blade of a rock, slicing into his flesh and momentarily making him cry in pain. He loses balance and falls onto his bum, clutching his foot to his face to observe the wound. Biting his lip as the blood trickles down, he wipes it off with the jogging bottoms that cater his lower half. Spotting a looming dark figure at the corner of his eye, he whips his neck upwards. Leaning back, his eyes widen as the wolf - so dark and eyes so blue it puts oceans at shame - strolls closer, a few meters away from Stiles.

Such a pretty wolf. It's true, it’s the prettiest wolf he’s ever seen. The fur- raven black which looks so soft to the touch. The eyes are the most beautiful, peering into him as if understanding, thoughtful. 

The wolf leans back, howling again. His ears then prick alert, standing with its head staring into the trees from the direction he came from. Stiles smiles again. “Go. Go back. Someone’s calling you.” He says in a soft voice. It looks to him again as if to say goodbye, then storms off with so much speed Stiles’ tired brain can barely register it. 

He grips onto a near tree’s branch, aiding him as he helps himself up. He journeys back to the wood line, for the comfort of the bed. He’s so tired he doesn’t notice how normal he’s been walking, no longer limping and skipping along on one leg. By the time he’s tucked himself into the duvet, the cut on his heel has disappeared without a trace, as if it was never even there. 

* * *

  
“Whose phone is that charging next to the bed?” 

There’s a shuffle, footsteps.

“This… this is Stiles’ phone.” 

“Did you put it in charge?” 

“No… I haven’t gone anywhere near his phone.” 

There’s a unison of gasps. 

“Wait let’s not- someone else could’ve put his phone on charge.” 

“Are you stupid? He’s been asleep for over two weeks, who will charge his phone now?” 

_I’ve woken up faster than I thought._

“So wait it wasn’t a dream?” 

“What?” 

“Last night I.. I thought I dreamed Stiles came in last night. He poked my ribs and laughed. Then he was gone.” 

“Does that mean… Stiles has woken up?” 

There’s the quick shuffle of footsteps and a door opening. It opens again not even a second later, a clamour of a crowd of footsteps steps in.

“So what? Maybe someone else charged his phone I don’t know.” 

“I was the last person here last night, there definitely wasn’t any phone.” 

“Maybe while you were gone?” 

“You guys woke us up for nothing-” 

There’s sudden gasps after Stiles stirs and shifts on the bed, groaning. 

“He- he just moved!” 

“Has he done that? Has he done that before?” 

“He‘s been completely still this whole time!” 

Their voices overlap each other in loud mutters. 

“Should we wake him up then?” 

“No! We were told to not touch him under any circumstance!” 

“Oh shut it Scott, he’s moved. I’m pretty sure he’s fine.” 

“How do we know he’s woken up? Maybe the sheriff charged his phone!”

“What, he sneaked in the middle of the night just to charge Stiles’ phone next to the bed?” 

“Oh Xav shove it up your ass.” 

The voices are louder, sounding like extreme annoyance to Stiles. He can’t take it anymore, he still is eager for more sleep and the crowd surrounding his bed prevents him from doing so. Having enough, he sits up rapidly, flipping them off.

“If you guys don’t shut the fuck up with your annoying trash of a mouth, I’ll shove a dagger up yer bum through the mouth until you bleed to death through all six- seven holes.” Glaring, he shoves himself back into the duvet and moves for a comfortable spot. There’s silence. _Ah, just how I like it._

“Stiles!” He groans as he feels three heavy weights jump on top of him. 

“What the fuck- GET OFF ME!” He screams, shifting around frantically for a gateway. Xavier holds his face with a bright grin, giving his head soft quick kisses. Erica shoves him off, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. Scott is hugging his body in place, slapping his chest. 

“Get these bloody wolves off of me.” He gasps for breath as Esme jumps on him, joining in. The four hold him down and rub their faces onto his skin, feeling so relieved and happy at the awake, moving version of their friend. 

“Come on guys. I didn’t die.” 

Scott immediately frowns down at him. “You scared us. You scared me! You’ve been asleep for weeks, excuse me dude for being worried about you!” He continues to frown before shoving Esme and collapsing right on top of his best friend. 

Stiles smiles a little af himself, at how many people have swarmed around his bed to see him awake. It warms his heart, feels fondness grow like a bubble that bounces and floats against the windows and walls. He doesn’t feel empty anymore.

“I’m okay now. But you wolves won’t be unless you get off me.” He retaliates, amusement lacing his tone. Most of the group freezes, Scott on top of the boy slowly shifting his face away, abashed- Scott only noticing how Stiles has been addressing them. 

“You know… what I am?” His best friend questions, sheepish. Is Scott ashamed of what he is? Maybe he didn’t ask for the bite? 

“Yes Scotty.”   
“You’re- you’re not scared?” 

Stiles is genuinely confused. “What? Why would I be?” 

“I can hurt you-” 

“ARE YOU KIDDING? Werewolves! They’re real! Well that’s what you are right? That is what we’re talking about? As in my best friend, heroic, shy and annoying best friend, is a bloody fucking werewolf?” Actually exclaiming his emotions out loud like that is an extremely nice feeling. “Because that’s fucking amazing! You have claws, fur-” He says the latter more questioningly, “and those fangs! Wait, you are the whole werewolf, full moon shibang right?” There’s a pause before Stiles has a whole Scott pressed against him. 

“You’re not scared.” 

“Yeah I just said-”

“I can hear it.” That shuts him up. He lets Scott take in a breather before wrapping his arms around the young McCall and ruffle his hair. “Of course I’m not- wait..hear it?” He knows Were can of course, but they don’t know that. He needs to act as the clueless (of the supernatural) 16 year old he is. 

“Yeah, we can hear how the hearts beat.”

“Woah, that’s cool!” Because it is. When he first learned of werewolf abilities, he couldn’t believe his ears. They were more interesting and complex than he originally thought. Especially their healing abilities and bonds- mating bonds specifically. Two beings who can not part, or, they will suffer in every way until they die? It sounds terrifying and so terribly romantic at the same time.

“How about us then? Scared?” Esme asks in a monotone voice. 

Stiles looks to the group hoarding him, hoarding the bed frames as if shielding him against the world. Or shielding the rest of the world from him subconsciously. It doesn’t really matter. 

“If I was scared would I have let you jump on me like that?” He smirks. 

“What are you saying? You’re just too weak to push me away.” Esme grins and goes to join the best friend’s cuddle. Erica plops down, between the pile and the wall. Xavier lays on top, bringing them all together like the wrap on a burrito. 

“Come on guys. Be all cute somewhere else.” Cora mutters under her breath, kicking at Scott’s leg protruding from the blanket. 

Stiles creases his eyes, watching Derek from the corner of his eye. He gives the man a small smile, an acknowledgement per se, which is then replied with a scowl and a leave towards the door. Stiles is suddenly in a bad mood. _The fuck is wrong with him?_

Just as Stiles thinks of many ways to castrate the man, Xavier flicks his forehead. “What are you -”

“Stiles.” He hears the familiar, soft yet very stern voice of Talia Hale, “I am glad to see you’re awake.”

The four quickly shuffle and shimmy off of Stiles, giving him room to stand. Talia pulls him into an unexpected hug and gives him a warm welcoming smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Hungry mostly.”

“I’m glad. Your father is on his way, want to wait for him downstairs while you eat?” She gives another smile, “Let’s talk later.” and with that she walks swiftly out the door. Stiles does a swerve and immediately strolls to Jackson. 

“Good to see you alive mate.” He grins. Jackson gives him a suspicious look before giving that enchanting smile and a small chuckle which escapes his lips, shaking the hand. 

“Lydia.” He greets the girl, surprised to find her smiling warmly back. 

Cora and Rose gave Stiles a big hug before disappearing off somewhere as the boy shoves a sausage into his mouth. Everyone has left Stiles’ side by now except for Xavier and Erica. Jennifer, Peter’s wife whom he’s met for the very first time, has cooked him a full English breakfast and some tea. British style tea. It is an understatement to say he is satisfied.

“Jennifer, these mushrooms are so good!” Jennifer is about a 5’6 tall woman, auburn frizzy hair with big pink lips and a small nose. She seems very warm and colourful, a complete contrast to Peter’s dark, mysterious demeanour. 

“I’m glad you like them.” Jennifer and him will definitely get long just fine. As soon as Jennifer turned the stove off and walked out with her own mug of tea, Stiles began questioning.

“So, anything happened while I was having an appointment with God?” They both chuckle.

“Honestly? Nothing much. But between the two of us, it looks like you have more of a story to tell than I do.”

“Me?” Stiles feigns ignorance.  
  
“Yes! Everyone directly involved with the kanima thing has been told to keep quiet! I have NO idea what happened. No one is telling me anything - I hate being kept out of the loop.” He pouts and makes his best puppy dog eyes, his hair dark hair looking fluffier than ever. 

“Isn’t that for the best?” Erica joins. Xavier hits her, which she returns 10 times stronger. Stiles watches the cat and dog fight with amusement, chewing the last bit of toast and following that by a last sip off the mug. Suddenly, there’s a loud ring of the front door bell.

At the sight of his father, Stiles felt two things: Utter content and guilt. He feels so happy that he flies into his father’s arms and so much guilt for the emptiness he felt early morning that he stayed there for a while, realising how much he really missed his father. None complained nor commented on it, loving the small family reunion. After a while of coaxing himself in his father’s warmth, he peers over the man’s shoulder and immediately freezes. 

There standing right at the front of the door is his now most feared enemy. Ms.Nowak. _I’m going to die._ Swiftly releasing himself, he only manages a slight step back when he’s suddenly enveloped with arms and a full, warm body pressed against him tightly. Recognising the citrus smell of her curly hair, he awkwardly hugs back with a laugh. He has no clue how she was going to kill him, but squeezing him to death is his apparent life sentence. 

She pulls back after a few more very tight squeezes, peering into the student’s eyes that she’s looked after and watched grow for the past years. Stiles has become considerably stronger, yet he’s still the same 9 year old who would sit in her office at lunch times, too scared to speak to the other students. 

“ _You silly boy._ ” She matters under her breath in polish, a slight fond tone, “don’t scare us like that again.” Stiles expected a big scolding, an argument mostly, before she drags him back to the academy to be watched until he’s 30 at least. He definitely did not expect this. 

“Scare? I- I just passed out. Just like those other times… right?” He eyes her, definitely not liking the way she looks back. Fainting for two weeks is a bit alarming, yes, but for Ms Nowak to be here, in person, using such words, tells him he merely did not faint. Well, he obviously knows that.

“Let’s talk about this later, Mieczysław.” With that use of his first name, in such a tone, he nods back and stands there a bit awkwardly. 

“I’m glad you have woken up Stiles.” She smiles warmly, ruffling the boy’s long chestnut curls. He smiles back with a little shrug, feeling too vulnerable underneath that gaze. He feels himself brought back to all those times he’ll step into her clinic with broken bones and bruised ribs, he’ll sit there, sore and in pain, as she fumbles about and scolds him for being silly again. He stopped coming, after it became more unnecessary and time consuming than needed. 

“Dr. Nowak. Sheriff.” Talia Hale greets the two, giving both a quick hug. When did such familiarity happen?   
“Let’s continue in my office, please.” 

Stiles sends a warm smile towards Xavier and Erica, before turning to follow the two into the back. He vaguely hears one of them mutter. 

“Well, am I just the only one who found that a bit weird?” The said person grunts straight after, probably from talking within earshot. Which sounded a lot like Xavier- Stiles smiles a little. 

Once they’ve seated themselves in Talia’s office, Stiles prepares himself for the many questions regarding his health… and well everything else. He’s a bit shocked however when all the alpha does is warmly smile, give Stiles a firm hug and tell him how happy she is he has woken up again. Ms.Nowak gives him a quick wink that no one else catches. 

She plants a small briefcase on her lap and pulls out a few instruments to check Stiles’ eyes, ears, nose and throat. She then proceeds to check his temperature, his blood pressure and heart rate. She continues to evaluate his body using observation, percussion, palpitation and auscultation. She then packs them all back into the case without a word once finished. 

“Dr.Nowak, is Stiles okay? He’s healthy?” His father eagerly questions. 

“Physically, yes.” She soberly replies. 

“Physically..?” 

“We still need to check his mental state. He did, afterall, collapse due to emotional distress.” She eyes him a little before turning her attention to Talia Hale.   
“I know what you have said to me is not the whole story. I need to know exactly of what happened, of all events leading to Stiles’ collapsing like that.” 

“I am sorry, it is not my-”

“It’s okay.” Stiles interrupts, “I am fine. This has happened before.” As suspicious he is of Talia’s plan for Scott, for him and his father, it is still not his place to reveal such secrets. He knows she is more than likely suspicious with him yet she allowed him to stay in her home, welcoming an unknown doctor through those doors too, in aid of a mysterious boy. A boy who almost killed another if he wasn’t stopped, a boy who managed to bring a killer into his deathbed, a boy who recovered faster than a werewolf from a kanima’s strong toxin, a boy who befriended a huntress then proceeded to use her… yet Stiles can tell how glad she genuinely is he has woken up. To probe him for questions, or, threaten him, he doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter what he’s become now, she needs to know the truth. Well, some part of it. After the emptiness from early morning melted away, all he’s felt is frustration and uselessness. He can’t live as a normal boy anymore, not to Talia’s eyes. He won’t allow himself to do nothing for his own selfish sake.

He turns to the alpha. “There is something I need to tell you.” She looks at him, nonchalant and nods. 

“If this is about the meaning of our existence, I will need my husband here.” 

“No.” He says quickly, “I mean- well I guess some part of it? Well... not really no. I need to tell you something, alpha.” He says the last, hesitantly. She eyes him a little. 

“Both my husband and I-” 

“I know.” He interrupts. She growls a little in her chest, obviously not liking being interrupted. “You can tell him what I am about to tell you, only him.” He emphasised. “However, I am only comfortable telling you and letting the very ones in this very room hear my conversation with Ms.Nowak- I mean, Dr.Nowak.” The doctor in mention widens her eyes. 

“Mieczysław.” She warns. He turns abruptly on his heel, face full of determination. She opens her mouth again, but he speaks. 

“ _My father was in danger. Because of some supernatural creature I had no idea was here and you know why? Because I was posing as some clueless human. I understand how much safer it is for me to conceal what I am, but what’s the point of me being safe when the people I care about aren't? When I can do something about it? Her, Talia Hale,_ ” she perks at the mentions of her name, “ _is an alpha. A lead protector of these lands and the people in it. It’s her, the most out of everyone, I need to be honest with._ ” He breathes deeply once finished, speaking solely from his heart. He can’t help thinking how much more he could’ve done if he’d known. If he was honest earlier. If he was at least a little bit more trusted. He has failed at being the smartest person in the room; how can you be the smartest when you’re the least trusted?

 _“I understand. Really, I do. But what I am about to tell you is something... you need to think over for a while, before even thinking about telling anyone. Including your father._ ” He shifts, resolves faltering, but he stands firm, not willing to back down from his decision. 

“No matter how bad it is, or good, we will speak in English, and they will listen.” They stare at each other like lasers, both gazes holding their fronts without a falter. Soon, the doctor is sighing, pushing a curly lock behind her ear and nodding. 

“It is your decision.” He smiles widely at that, proud to have her with him. To have someone he respects so highly approve of his decision. He turns to Talia Hale, taking this chance to trust and to be trusted back. He breathes deeply in his chest. 

“I... am not human.” 

────

  
_**Meanwhile** _

  
Aleksi had woken up that dark morning with gasping breaths, as if he had not been breathing for many months. He feels refreshed, light even, as he focuses and controls his breathing. That weight in his chest has subsided, no traces left behind at all. He has gone to Ms.Nowak after much research on his own and with his friends - though a more dull, constant weight hangs in the rest of them, but nonetheless, there- to find the meanings of the group’s sudden joint form of anxiety to find nothing.

They first suspected some type of curse from the witch they last apprehended, or maybe even his own strong magic manifesting in some way that has affected those closest to him, however, as he steadies himself in the pool of sweat on the sheets, he finds himself knowing exactly the cause. 

Stiles. 

After many failed attempts of looking for his friends, it takes him a few seconds to adjust to the sudden pull from someone behind, dragging him along the sun illuminated corridor. 

“Perse!” He exclaims, knowing such speed and stealth belongs to only one person- the one person who’d also drag him across the floor by the earlobe without hesitation. 

“Where have you been?” She demands in a calm voice, her white hair a bit too loose from the usual tight, formal gelled bun. 

“Where have I been? You wankers didn’t even bother to show up at breakfast!” He stops dead in his tracks, carefully analysing his best friend’s reaction. He knows something is going on, did they also get the same feeling about Stiles too? 

“Listen, I‘ve got something I really need to tell you guys-”

“Alex collapsed.” She interrupts, letting go of Aleksi’s arm.

At that, he jogs off quickly, running to the infirmary quickly as possible, completely ignoring Persephone’s calls to him. He has no time to notice other student’s suspicious stares or admiration, slamming the infirmary door open and calling for his favourite doctor. 

“Ms. Nowak! Ms.Nowak!” 

“Stop your calls. You’re disturbing patients.” Says a deep, husky voice behind him. Aleksi whips around on his heel, surprised to find the man he adores with all his heart standing there. Tall, muscley, gorgeous dark skin as smooth as silk and a radiant white toothy smile stands before him. Any other time he’d swoon inwardly and try his hardest to keep the blush down, but not this time. Well, he swoons a little. 

“I apologise- wait what are you doing here? Where’s Ms.Nowak?” He questions him. 

“Did she not tell you? She has been gone for over a little week now, to attend to someone.” 

“Do you know when she’ll be back?” 

“Not that I know of, no.” Aleksi groans loudly. 

“Is it possible you’ll be able to let me in the resting area?” 

“You know I can not do that Aleksi.” Aleksi records and stores the sound of his name on the man’s lips into the back of his mind for later, ready for replay over and over. He looks into those pretty brown eyes and a silence develops over them. Someone fake coughs.

“Can we please stop eye fucking each other.” Persephone bluntly comments from the door. She rolls her eyes,zapping away with a mischievous smile. 

After a pause, the man speaks. “Earlier it was a.. Poor attempt at a joke. Of course you can go to the resting area.” 

Aleksi turns to the man. “I have to go then.” He mutters, as if asking permission. 

“Yes, go make sure your friend is okay.” Aleksi nods at him awkwardly.

“Yes, see you Jamal.” Persephone once again put him in a really embarrassing situation. _What’s new?_

_Wow. This is very new._

Aleksi strokes the tattooed insignia just below Alexandra’s shoulder, the gold and white lacing together like silk. 

“What… what is it?” He questions. 

“I have no fucking clue.” She deadpans, “I don’t know, maybe something to do with the vision I had?” She sarcastically replies. Elijah chuckles from his loveseat in the corner. 

“You still haven’t told us what your vision was.” Persephone states. 

“It was dark, horrible and gruesome. Mostly flashes. And it was long. The longest and most vivid I’ve ever had.” She slaps Aleksi’s hand away and rolls her sleeve down without a bat with her eyelids. 

“What does that mean?” Aleksi questions, used to the girl’s violent antics. 

“Headmaster assured me it means I’ve just grown stronger.” She picks a paintbrush from her side, wrapping her braids around it and twisting it into a tight bun in mere seconds. “The visions will be much clearer from now on.”

“Didn’t you have a vision yesterday?” 

“Yes, no shit you tosser. It was nowhere as clear as the one just now though. I can still remember every detail.” 

“So what, you got stronger overnight? You sure you didn’t get high on avocado?”

“Oh fuck off yah cow.” Alexandra sends the man a deathly glare, before smacking the large head with a hand once they hear someone shushing them from the other side of the populated room. 

“Stop acting like a bloody arsehole you, like you didn’t immediately run here after hearing her faint.” Persephone calmly reminds him. 

“Oh, he did, did he?” Alexandra taunts. 

“Look- I ran, saw you snogging Elijah’s face off and knew you’re more than okay. Which, fucking sucks by the way-” He adds quickly, “ The image that is.” 

Alexandra brightly grins and jumps onto her best friend, wrapping her limbs around him tightly and peppering kisses all over his face. “So so worried about me weren’t you.” 

“Oh bugger off” He hugs back tightly, before releasing her and throwing her onto the hospital-like bed. 

“Okay, now out with it. You’ve been trying to change subjects. What was the vision about?” Elijah moves quickly to sit beside her, giving the woman a firm squeeze round the shoulders and a soft, encouraging look in his eyes. 

“It… it was terrible. A whole group of ‘im.” She starts, “A whole fucking group, killing”

“What… what do they want?” 

“I don’t know… but Stiles was there.” 

“Stiles? That annoying wee shit?” Persephone says. 

“Wait you didn’t tell me this?” Elijah tightens his hold, “Stiles has left. He leads a normal human life, why would a group like that be with Stiles?” 

“I.. I don’t know. But, Stiles looked a lot different.”

“It’s only been a month, what kind of fucking mess as he got himself into now?” 

“It’s Stiles you shagging toad. Stiles.” Persephone deeply sighs with her comment, her head already going into an unending loop. 

“Guys, there’s something I need to tell you.” Aleksi looks up nervously from his gaze onto his honey skinned fingers, “I think it’s Stiles that’s made me feel… like this.”

“I-fuck I… I know it’s him.” There’s a silence that envelops over them, a pause in their lives at the realisation that once again, as much as they hate it, love it, Stiles once again is leading them. Even if he has no idea himself of what’s going on, he’s showing them, warning them, telling them to put their heads together and figure out how to stop this, just like many times before. He’s gone, but he can never truly disappear from their lives. Stiles will always be a part of them, whether they like it or not. 

“We need to see Stiles, right now.” Aleksi announces. 

“No, not yet.” Alexandra disagrees, “there’s something we need to do first.” 

“What’s that?” Aleksi questions the witch. 

“Don’t worry, just a few trips to the library.” Aleksi loudly groans in annoyance, earning a scowl from Alexandra. 

“For fucks sake Alexandra there’s no time-” 

“No. We have lots of time.” The other three gives her confused glances, which she reciprocates before falling back into the bed. 

“In the meantime, we need to figure out who ‘they’ even are, and what Stiles has to do with it all” She strokes her sketchbook, visual drawings and anything significant from the vision marks the pages.

“We can’t trust anyone.” Elijah whispers.

“We need more information.”

Persephone and Aleksi sigh, plopping down on the bed next to the other two and falling on top with a thud. “That git is always in the middle of any drama.” They giggle at that together, which disintegrates into a comfortable silence they usually have a lot of for the past month with their leader gone. 

“Listen, we got a new assignment this morning. Protection detail. We leave first thing tomorrow- gone for a few weeks at least. The basics will be given to us at dinner however we’ll know the full details once we’re there.” Elijah breaks the silence. 

“So seeing Stiles straight away isn’t even possible.” Persephone mutters to herself, the witch nods at her. 

“Where to?” Aleksi questions. 

“South Korea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't my best as this chapter was focused on setting up more of the story's foundations, but DO NOT FRET, LOTS of Sterek moments will come, AHHHH I can't wait to write them !!
> 
> P.S I am typing this instead of typing an essay. My Politics teacher would be very proud of me.


	6. The bringer of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week after Stiles woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! - a shorter chapter.
> 
> How has everyone been? I've been writing lots the past few days, and my sleeping schedule has once again turned for the worst. What's new? I read the comments over and over and I get this buzz, this overpowering need to write. So here I am, writing for days on end, bringing my laptop everywhere with me and just writing and writing. This must be what Stiles feels, when his magic buzzes. 
> 
> In this chapter I wanted to show a little peak of what Stiles used to be like before his mother died. Condescending and a little narcissistic. He wasn't like this to people he cared about, and he normally put up a false façade for strangers, he only evoked his true thoughts to ignite some sort of reaction. He can be manipulative and sadistic at times, which will all be explained as to how this came about, as we saw the bubbly, nice 9 nine year old. Because of the time skip, we have no idea what Stiles did and went through, though I have given slight mentions. This chapter shows more of how Stiles thinks and gives a little peak of how he used to be in his old life :) 
> 
> I hope everyone is safe and content, drinking water and eating foods they desire and need. That everyone has a warm bed to sleep in, people to love and be loved back, and that we are satisfied with ourselves as we can be. Have a happy Halloween, and for those who not celebrate Halloween, have a great continued tradition, and for those who do not celebrate any traditions at all on this day, have a wonderful day.
> 
> Till next time, Camille.

It’s been a week since Stiles woke up. 

  
Stiles reaches into a pocket, whipping out a pack of cigarettes. He had stolen these on a whim, finding the brand soothing and familiar. It’s the same brand his father smoked when he was a child, it’s one of the memories that stuck to him about Beacon Hills. His father would bring him at night, too late for a child but nowhere late enough for an adult, buying him his favourite gummy worms and his own brand of fags. It all always came to cost the exact same price, $11.40. Despite his father’s previous habits now gone, Stiles knew he had to get it once he saw it sitting behind the shop cashier, waiting for him to notice. 

Just on another whim, he lits the tip of his finger, igniting the cigarette. Its smoke is strong, resulting in him coughing half his lung out. He’s never smoked cigarettes before, and compared to his small moments with weed, he finds the cigarette smoke completely disgusting. With a deep groan, he inhales again, coughing just a bit less this time. He watches the busy diner move and buzz from a distance, waiting. Once he got tired of coughing so much from the burn, he threw the little stick onto the ground, crushing it with the tip of his boots. He settles on the gummy worms instead, throwing a sugary artificial green one into his mouth just as he spots it.  Following, he shoves his hands into his pockets and into the bustle of the diner, seating himself across the person he watched enter moments before. 

“No one followed you?” She questions. Immediately a waiter walks over, with which the woman responds, “two blacks” without a glance to the waiter. 

“That question is offending.” He looks up to the waiter with a smile, “two sugars for mine.” And with that, the waiter eagerly walks away with an odd look.

“You’ve grown soft.” The woman comments, crossing her arms and leaning back. 

“How so?”

“Softer… but more powerful. Ms Nowak is right.” She simply states, taking a glance at her watch. 

“Care to share what you seemingly can so easily see?” Stiles chuckles, grinning widely. 

“I see someone guilty. Now, what would our young powerful Stiles be guilty about?” She turns to the approaching waiter with the two mugs, “Do you know?” She questions the frail waiter. He gives a confused look between the two and darts away, not wanting to question and get involved. They both smile as the teenager runs with a tail between its legs. 

“Please don’t give me your usual bollocks. I already have a lot on my mind.” Stiles sips his coffee and makes a disgusted face.  _ Bitter.  _

“Now now, don’t use such language.” The woman has a condescending smile, as if she knows all and finds everything a joke, “Are you not happy to see me?” 

Stiles looks up with his eyes, in the middle of pouring sugar from the small sugar packets from the side of the table. “Depends what you have for me.” He continues mixing the sugar into the coffee in fluid, patient motions, the need for his hand to be doing something quite overwhelming. 

The woman smiles and places a big envelope on the table, sliding it over. “That’s all of what we found. I’m sorry we could not find any more.” Stiles places a hand over it, stroking the paper material a little. Her gaze softens. 

“It’s okay, I didn’t expect anything at all to be honest.” He takes a slight peek into the envelope, before shoving it into the insides of his pockets. “Thank you.” The woman smiles. “How is everyone?”

“Your little scooby-doo gang is on a mission right now, Ms Nowak has not given up on finding information for you, your teacher is very bored without you there making trouble with him, everything is as it's always been. Peaceful. Don’t worry about us.” Stiles nods, missing the missions with him and his friends. Spending time with his teacher. God, he misses them now more than ever. 

After some silence, she takes a big gulp of the coffee. “What cheap coffee.” She mumbles. Stiles chuckles a little, remembering how much the woman in front of her values a very nice mug of coffee. She would crush, filter, brew it herself every time, only using the finest coffee beans. Sipping coffee in her study were always nice treats, it was her after all that influenced him to be such a coffee lover.

“I can not deny that, but something about it, drinking it in a diner during a cold morning, it’s pretty nice.” He replies, looking out the window, into the streets of mostly adults in formal attire, the honks of cars and the loud chatter that resonates every nook and cranny. 

“Please, you can not call this cold.” The woman mumbles, taking another sip of coffee. 

“To the Californians it is.” Stiles chuckles, agreeing with her. It was 11 degrees Celsius when he left the house in a thin hoodie, eyeing a woman in a furry thick coat completely gobsmacked. 

“Seems you’re settling in well, I take it?” The woman takes out a caramel sweet, dumping it into the coffee and whisking casually. 

“Well, if sleeping for two weeks means I’ve settled, then yes I’d say so.” Stiles has quite a lot on his mind, all the work he needs to catch up on be damned.

“Just because you’re feeling a little homesick does not mean you can lash out your frustrations onto me. You and I both know your little hibernation was all entirely your fault.” Stiles sneers at her, annoyed once again at how seemingly condescending she seems to word everything, even when she uses optimistic words and tones. “You really should’ve been much more careful. New environment, new people, new routines. We told you the importance of taking things slow, for your mind and magic. We didn’t teach you to be so rash now did we? As I've said, you’ve gone soft.”

Stiles does not like how much truth she speaks, especially since it’s coming from her mouth. 

“You did not return to Beacon Hills for kanimas and werewolves, but for your father right? Do not stray from that.” She reminds him, eyeing him a little in accusation. 

“I did and I failed that, two weeks in!” He exclaims in frustration, slapping the table. 

“From what Ms Nowak told me, there could’ve been hundreds of different ways to handle that situation. Not only did you bring hunters and werewolves to the same location, the same pack your friend is a part of, you also brought a kanima to the hunters. Have you any idea what that means Stiles?” Stiles knows, he definitely knows. That night would not stop replaying over in his head like a mantra. “You’ve exposed yourself, to the hunters. The Argents are one of the most proficient hunter families in the supernatural community, and you used them as bait.”

“I’m friends with the girl-”

“The girl is a 16 year old, young huntress with not much power and authority. Do not rely on her. Plus from what I hear, the family values her a lot. They would not take it so kindly to the fact that their youngest was used as bait, you even allowed her to be intoxicated with the poison.”

“It’s been three weeks, nothing has happened.”

“Yet,” She sighs deeply, placing the mug down, “The Argents are very careful people. They’ll wait, watching. Especially that wrinkly grandpa.” Stiles definitely does not like the sound of that, making an enemy of these kinds of people is a disadvantage. Even if he can defeat all of them, it defeats the whole purpose of his initial goal of not standing out - both in the town, and the supernatural community. 

“I understand you told the Hale Alpha about you? That is your right and I have no say in it, however, I’ve been told they turned down your help. Any ideas why?”

Stiles grunts, “Many.”

“Good then, we’re on the same page.” The woman beckons a waiter over, “Am I starving.” She glances at the menu, a scowl on her face. “Stack of pancakes with whip cream, Nutella and ice cream?” She questions, a bit bewildered, “For breakfast?” She questions, looking at the waiter. It’s a different one from earlier, with the face expression of “hurry up I wanna go home”. 

“I’ll have the Eggs and sausages, reckon I can get toast with that?” The waiter simply nods, hands on the pen and notepad not moving an inch, “He’ll have the same thing, add some chips with that.”

“Chips?” His voice and muddled and low, Stiles guesses he’s a busy student working part-time jobs to pay for it.

“Oh,  _ French Fries.”  _

The waiter scowls, “Is that all?” He questions, bitterly. 

“Yes thank you.” She smiles at him, watching the waiter walk away with a deeper scowl. 

“You’re infuriating.” He comments, used to the woman’s antics. 

“Same to you child, the amount of trouble you get into in such short spans of time… I’d say that’s a talent in itself.” She places the mug next to the packets and little plastic tubs of sauces softly. “What’s your plan now Stiles?”

“I’m going to protect my father, Scott. And, I'll do everything to make sure they are safe.” 

The woman in front of her sighs, “That is a goal Stiles. Not a plan.”

“I know.” Stiles smirks at her as a plate lands in front of each of them, “I’m working on it.” Stiles watches as the woman cuts her sausages into similar sized pieces and continues to talk, “One by one like a jigsaw puzzle.” He finishes, squeezing some ketchup on his plate.

“Don’t let your father see you get into any more trouble.” She states, a commanding serious tone to her voice, a great contrast to the teasing undertone she always speaks in. She eyes Stiles’ pocket, the one which his pack of fags is hiding in. 

“Of course. Who am I but your best student?” She smiles at that. 

* * *

When Stiles got home that Sunday morning, he found his father still fast asleep. His time with the devilish woman reminded him a lot of things he’s forgotten. One of which, the biggest one hiding right under his nose. His father, Scott, everyone in this town, are strangers to him. As close he is with his father, it is an unfortunate truth he’s closer with the woman than his own father. He only ever saw his father once or twice a year, sometimes none at all, which made him stick with awkward skype calls. It’s only recently they got closer again, through his mother’s death. Scott and him are just childhood friends reunited. None of them knows the scars he bears - mental and physical-, nightmares he has frequently, breakdowns, the meanings behind his many tattoos and piercings, his past. Besides the glamour spell he has on at all times, he himself has a façade. He’s done more than they could ever know. 

He looks at the mirror, not recognising the person who stares back. Stiles to them is protective, frail, bubbly, a bit smart, maybe a bit suspicious, weak. He only has his wits. Stiles has been way more than that for a long time. He needs to feel like himself again, then he can think. Glancing at the passed out form of his father in his room, he grabs his leather jacket, wallet, phone and keys and he leaves. 

He drove to the next town, making sure the wards around Beacon Hills did not detect him. He parks the car in the middle of the street, making sure his parking ticket is seen. From there he takes a taxi to a much bigger town, a pretty one. His mind is clear as he orders himself a pizza at a restaurant, very clear. He can not hear his thoughts, or take in much of what was happening except for the doughy, cheesy texture of the pepperoni pizza, but it's so ever clear. He walks around after, sneaking into the town’s college. He waltzes through the lecture rooms finding emptiness- typical for a Sunday afternoon. He abruptly halts however, when he passes a lecture hall fancier than the rest, bigger too, filled with many people. 

He sneaks through the back, acting casual as he seats on the cushioned row’s edge, the last row at the very back. The person next to him barely acknowledges the new presence, concentrating fiercely. The lecturer speaks on personality disorders, using sociopaths and psychopaths for examples. He observes how the man presents himself, mannerisms, how he stands, where he looks. Other than that, Stiles finds the two hour lecture interesting, theorising on behaviour, personas and environmental influence. The mind truly is an interesting place. 

Once the lecture finished, Stiles stayed behind, at the very back. He watches in curiosity at the lecturer, he deduces the man’s popularity among students (well that much is obvious), handsome framed frames perfect for round glasses. Toned body and excellent, simple fashion. 

“A modern man, clean freak, no pets or major responsibilities, a routine lifestyle,” He starts aloud, walking down the steps to the very front, "Seems like a fuckboy but is really reserved, has only ever had long term or very short relationships, an only child or one other sibling, born in an upper class family, parents are still happily married,” The man looks at him with a confused face, “You prefer a nice glass of whiskey to thoroughly enjoy rather than cheap cans or shots, you have a small friend group you see maybe only once a week, you recognise people’s attraction to you and you secretly enjoy it,” He pockets a hand, “You’re narcissistic, a pessimist, realist. Your favourite instrument is either the piano or the viola, but your favourite genre is punk rock. A bit manipulative and pretty possessive of your toys.” The man is silent as Stiles walks to the very front row, seating himself down, “And lastly, You like playing with people’s emotions.” Stiles smiles at the man’s nonchalant expression, “Did I get any wrong?”

The man is silent.

“The flute.”

“Hm?”

“My favourite instrument is the flute.” Stiles giggles, enjoying this.

“There’s always one.” He comments, and the man smiles. 

“You’re not a student here.”

“Oh really? How can you tell?”

“I would’ve remembered your face.” Stiles cocks a brow.

“Slow down there, my face is illegal.” The man looks up, staring Stiles down.

“You’re quite narcissistic yourself.” He smirks. Stiles starts to walks forward in a stride so confident Stiles’ magic starts to buzz.

“What else can you deduce?” He whispers, slowing down to stand directly in front of the man. 

“You’re dangerous.” He breathes out, staring right into Stiles’ pupils. The man reminds him of Derek, even his appearance. It affects Stiles more than he cares to admit, the thought of being this close with the wolf. 

Stiles leans forwards slowly, feeling the man’s breath on his lips, then he cocks to the side, breathing out onto his ears. “Be careful.” He whispers in a husky voice. 

He looks up at him with a smile and child-like innocence as he strides away, his magic buzzing with excitement. The man reaches into his back pocket, taking out a pack of cigarettes that wasn’t there before. “Very dangerous.” He whispers underneath his breath, igniting the cigarette butt. He laughs as he huffs one out. 

Stiles felt a sense of satisfaction he hasn’t in ages once he left the lecture hall. The thought of leaving such a thought-provoking memory upon a stranger, someone he’ll never meet again and forget, yet they’ll think about him… god he loves it. 

By nightfall, Stiles has entered three different clubs, his interactions with strangers similar with the hot professor. This is what Stiles is, the person in control. Leaving people shocked, influenced. It’s 12am once he’s in the taxi drives back to his jeep, sober and relaxed. He can think now, he’s in control. He’s filled with much more determination, eager to seize control once again. He takes his phone out.

“It’s time for you to pay me.”

* * *

Stiles’ first target was Lydia. She’s the one most vulnerable right now, the weak point. Jackson’s lover and anchor, the human link. Stiles laughs to himself, she’s just as human as the werewolves are. He can not believe no one has worked it out yet. Though, he's not sure what kind of non-human she is.

Over the week in ‘recovery’, he’s gone home from the Hales completely exhausted. He and his father thanked the Hales repeatedly, to which Talia simply replied “You’re welcome,” every time.

Stiles knows she’s still wary of him, but a lot less than half the pack. After the whole incident, all went from throwing him smiles to more than half completely ignoring his existence. He doesn’t quite mind, It’s Derek he’s annoyed with. The man leaves every room the second Stiles approaches, and the boy has tried speaking to him multiple times. Just to even say thank you. With the exception of Xavier, Esme, Erica and Laura, no one else is speaking to him. And even then only Erica and Xavier seem to hold any conversation with him. His popularity with the Hale pack has decreased immensely. This is definitely not advantageous.

To add to that, there’s the matter of the Argents. No word, even movements, towards him or to the Hales, not that he knows of. He’s spent most of the week alone, with Scott’s presence barging in through the doors when he doesn’t pick up his calls. Melissa fussing over him every time he breathes. What worrywarts. His father isn't much different, sensing him around at night when he thinks Stiles is asleep, waiting for Stiles to move before he leaves. Stiles feels much guilt.

As Stiles rides to school for the first in three weeks, he concludes that staying low is not an option. He seeks out Allison as soon as he gets there, catching her by her locker. She catches him approach, slamming the locker harshly. She starts to speed walk in Stiles’ opposite direction. On the other hand, Stiles is fast, catching up to her in no time. “Allison.” He calls, she ignores him, “Come on, no Hello? Good to see you’re alive and kicking?” Suddenly she stops to glare at Stiles. If glares could kill, Stiles’ neck would be cut open right now.  Stiles quickly changes his angle.

“Allison, I’m sorry, can we please talk?” He begs, genuinely feeling upset at Allison’s indifference. She turns a corner, walking away as the bell rings. Stiles stands in the hallway alone, not wanting to lose the first friend he made at the school. 

For the rest of the day Stiles finds Allison at every opportunity, to apologise and to beg to her to talk to him. At lunch, knowing he doesn’t have her in his next two classes, he asks to meet her after school in the history classroom with a desperate voice. Again, she eats without much care, as if he isn’t there. Stiles really hates this. 

It’s been an hour and Stiles is still waiting. Scott was off ‘sick’ and the Hales aren’t talking to him, plus Jackson and Lydia only give him a small nod when they walk past. A respectable acknowledgement. They do not want to be his friend, he can tell that much. He’s been alone at school all day, which he usually doesn’t mind, but that allowed him to be left with his thoughts. The thoughts telling him how poorly he handled the kanima incident; Isaac, Scott and Derek watching him lead Matt away with terrified expressions, Derek’s hand on him, his smell, the look on his face when he looked at him… Stiles’ spiral of thoughts are interrupted at the click of the door. Allison walks in, a nonchalant expression plastered onto her usual smiling face. Stiles immediately feels guilt pooling in his stomach.

“Allison, I am so, so sorry for using you like that. I knew it was dangerous yet I did it. I let my anger get to me and put you in danger. I shouldn’t have done it. Please forgive me.” Allison continues to watch him, expression unchanged. “And, I’m sorry for letting you get hit by the kanima, well, sliced- inject? What I'm saying is, I'm very sorry, for all of it. I don’t deserve to be called your friend. So know that I understand if you never want to talk to me again, even see. Whenever I see you, I promise to duck and hide, so you know, you don’t see me. Even if I’m in the jeep and I drive past you, I’ll jump right out-”

“You idiot.” She walks forward and starts hitting him, punching him right in the gut. “That’s for using me as bait.” Stiles gasps, the air knocked out of him. For a human she has some strong punches.  _ Wow, she really is amazing. _ “Secondly, I’m not angry about that. You idiot!”  _ She just punched me for using her as bait, what does she mean she isn’t angry?  _ “You idiot!”

“Okay okay we've established I’m an idiot! Stop hitting me goddamit!” She hits harder, “Alli!” At that nickname she stops, slowly dropping her raised arms beside her. 

“I thought you weren’t going to wake up.” She whispers, breathless. “I-I thought you had… because of me…”

“Woah woah, what are you saying?” Stiles grips her shoulders, looking for her eyes but their set on downcast.

“Again… because of me…” Allison starts to break down, gripping Stiles’ hoodie tightly. Stiles can’t make out most of what she's saying, so he holds her quietly. Allison sobs raw, shaking and quivering with no sign of stopping. “It’s okay.” He says almost whispers, rubbing her back, “It’s okay,” He repeats.

Even when Allison’s shaking stopped, the tears stopped, they stayed in the same position. Stiles rubs her back with an arm around her gently, whispering good things the entire time. They don’t know how long has passed, nor do they really much care. Allison parts from him quietly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Let’s go eat. You hungry?” Stiles questions after a long silence. 

“Very.”

* * *

Allison, feeling too raw, settles on a hot chocolate and croissant. Stiles on the other hand, is busy munching away on a burger, curly fries and a chocolate milkshake. Allison watches in fascination, her friend eating away as if he has no worries. 

“You’re not human.” She states, rather than question, “But you’re not a werewolf.” She leans forward, "You’re not going to answer me are you? Well, you don't have to. You can tell me when you want to," She cocks her head, a smile edging on her lips, "Though it does explain a lot.” The quiet Stiles continues to drink his milkshake, expressionless. He can easily evade such statements, but the thought of lying to her gives him an ugly feeling. He settles on ignoring it, keeping quiet. Frankly, he’s not surprised she found out, she’s crazy intuitive. Doesn’t mean he’ll hand over the answers on a silver platter.

“I tried to see you,” Allison starts instead, “But my family wouldn’t let me,” Stiles looks up from his burger, “They said they won’t let me enter a den full of monsters for some boy.” Allison gulps harshly, “I argued with them. Told them you’re someone important, the Hales would never willingly tell us if you’re okay or not. Considering...”

Stiles is silent, just eating. He lets Allison talk at her own pace, even if her pauses seem to stretch for far too long or if her breath intakes a bit too quickly. He waits patiently. “The sheriff saw me at the bookstore, the one we go to.” Allison and Stiles have had small few hours together, reading at the vintage bookshop quietly, or talking while doing school work at the café next to it. They haven’t told others exactly how close they’ve gotten, especially Stiles to Scott, plus this small secret of theirs felt nice as a secret. The bookshop is at the very outskirts of Beacon Hills so no one they really know has ever appeared, it's a solitude they found in each other. 

“He told me you had woken up. I was so happy Stiles.” She smiles at him which quickly turns into a frown, “I snuck out to try and see you, but I got caught. Someone was put to watch me, make sure I don’t disappear and see you. The only reason I’m here right now is because my parents think I’m at the library, which is where I’ve been going to after school for the past week. I behaved, promised a bunch of bullshit. I made sure I lost the person following me and ran back to school, for you.”

“And you, you make me so mad!" She switches tones, voice risen, "Do you have any idea how reckless you were? What if I wasn’t close to the school? What if the Hales arrived late?” Stiles wipes his hands quickly, getting up, “What if Matt hadn’t-” Stiles imprisons her into a deathly hug. 

“Thank you for worrying about me.” He softly thanks. They part once again in silence. 

“Does this mean you’re not allowed to be my friend anymore?” Stiles asks.

“Well, yes. But unless they lock me up in the basement, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.” She smiles that pretty smile of hers and holds Stiles’ hand. 

“I’m really glad you’re here Stiles.”

“Me too.”

An hour later they leave in chatter, smiles and laughs. This side of Stiles feels good too, Stiles thinks. 

“Hey, i’m really worried about Lydia.” They walk towards the park side by side, the sun highlighting the sky with pretty pinks and bright orange hues. They plop on a bench, watching the children run around and scream. 

“Why?”

“The kanima incident really affected her. She told me… she can’t look at Jackson the same way anymore, as much as she hates it. And…” She drifts off, battling whether to tell or not, “And she says the other day she woke up next to a dead body.” Now that gets Stiles’ interest. He bites his lip from muttering “interesting” as Allison seems clearly distressed. 

“It was in the woods. She panicked and didn’t know what to do, so she called me. Since then, she keeps waking up at random places, always near a dead body. Even to next towns. She hardly sleeps or eats. I keep telling her to tell someone, let me tell someone, but she refuses.” She deeply sighs, in obvious turmoil. 

"You told me."

"You're different." Allison nudges him with her elbow, "You know how everyone says they won't tell anyone but there's always that one person they tell everything to? That's you."

“I understand," Stiles' tummy flutters a little, that was really nice compliment, "Next time it happens, call me okay?” Stiles firmly says.

“Wait why? Do you know something?” She turns to him sharply with a suspicious look in her eyes which he laughs at.

“No, but I’ll research. I’m very good at research.” He says matter of fact-ly, a smug look on his face. 

* * *

Stiles finally saw his chance. He’s just finished shopping for his requirements, such as curly fries, gummy worms, blueberries and the essentials, a bottled milkshake, cheese and ham (The good kind of ham). He spots the grumpy Hale in a café, reading. It’s magical, watching him sit comfortably against the clear glass, in layers of caramel and cashmere. The gentle turnings of the page, fingers moving elegantly from touching the paper to picking up the cup of coffee, sipping, and placing it down as gently as he did picking him up. He raises the glass perched on his nose a little, making Stiles involuntarily smile, before his pretty hands return to its place to stroke the pages as he concentrates. The buzz and bustles that surround him do not bother him in the least, as if he’s in a totally different world. Stiles watches him a little more, before deciding to stop being a creep.

He hides his presence, heartbeat, footsteps, everything. He walks into the café with bags of his shopping, standing in line to get a mocha. Stiles can not help but stare at Derek some more, the man seeming so beautiful the more he looks. The warm colours are a big contrast to the usual dark, and dull of his henleys. He doesn’t notice the cashier calling him out (you can’t exactly hide presence that’s right in front of you).

“What would you like sir?”

“A mocha please.”

“Cream?”

“Sure, why not.” Stiles feels adventurous. 

“Take out or take in?” Stiles glances to the dark, beautiful man. There’s a tiny smell etched on his lips. 

“Take in.”

Once he’s gotten his tray, a pretty mocha with cream, Stiles notices the shape is a heart. With a deep sigh of determination, he walks to Derek’s table and casually places the tray onto the table. It takes Derek a moment to realise someone has joined him, even more than a moment when he glances up and sees who it is.

“Stiles.” He takes a sharp intake of breath. He closes the book with a thud and quickly moves to stand. How had he not sensed him? Noticed that intoxicating smell, that familiar heartbeat…

Stiles freaks, grabbing Derek’s wrist without missing a beat. “Please, I need to say something.”

* * *

_ This is so unfair.  _ How could he not comply when Stiles is looking at him like  _ that  _ and begging, as if, if Derek left right now, it’ll absolutely tear him apart? His wolf is screaming at him to stay, and he hates it. Without a word, he glances to Stiles’ hand wrapped around his own. Embarrassed, Stiles pulls away, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you.” Derek nods, sitting back down. He can practically smell the happiness radiating off the boy.  _ Wait, I can smell him now?  _

“I just wanted to say thank you, for you know, what you did.” Derek doesn’t have the confidence to look into his eyes, so he fiddles with the tissue underneath his coffee cup. It seems so interesting now. “Really, um, thank you. Scott told me you were one of the ones who really looked after me when I was… asleep,” Derek’s going to kill him, “Thank you.” Stiles finishes in a small voice. Derek doesn’t exactly know what to do, so he just nods. The two sit in silence, sipping their coffees respectively. They have a million things to say, questions to ask, but both do not have the courage to say anything. Stiles takes out a book -which Derek surprisingly sees is in French- stroking the spine. 

“Do you mind?” Stiles looks very pretty, he always does, especially to Derek. Those doe eyes, mole skin, pink lips and  _ hands.  _ Those dainty, calloused hands. He doesn’t know how that works, but then again anything regarding the boy doesn’t make sense. 

“Go ahead.” Derek watches the boy find his book mark, open it and sit back with relaxed shoulders. He never thought when he woke up this morning that he’ll be here, sitting with Stiles, drinking coffee and reading in silence. Reality starts to seep in a bit, and Derek is about to freak a little, when Stiles laughs.  _ God.  _ Derek has stopped working. He’s heard Stiles laugh before, from the other room as he chats to Xavier, but this laugh… there’s something about it that makes him stop dead in his tracks. His mind has stopped working. 

He slowly pulls his gaze upwards, from the small letters on paper to the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. Stiles sits there, a book in hand, cup in the other, chest and shoulders vibrating along with the rhythm of his laughs. It’s loud, bubbly, concerning, and absolutely  _ amazing.  _ Derek watches in silence, not knowing how to react, what to do. _How to breathe._

Stiles calms down and flicks the page with a thumb, continuing on quietly as if he didn’t just blew Derek’s mind away. After a few moments, Derek still can’t concentrate, that laughter repeating in his head like a broken disc player. He slams the book shut and stands to leave. He ignores the ache in his chest that the concentrated Stiles immediately notices, and instead shoves the book into his bag, almost angrily. As he places the bag over his shoulders, he looks at Stiles.  _ Bad idea.  _ They share intense eye contact and Derek has to physically restrain himself from moving closer to the boy. The mood has shifted.

“I’ll see you again?” Stiles asks, hopeful. Derek bites his lower lip, his gaze falls to the teenager’s collarbones and back to his lips.

“Okay.” He whips his neck to the door, almost forced, and walks out without a moment to lose. Stiles watches him retreating back with a sombre feeling, remembering that electrical jump his magic did when he touched the other. He stares at his hand, having never felt such calmness and excitement at once ever in his life. Not even during moments like with the hot professor. His magic is dancing. 

* * *

Stiles groans so deep in his chest he reckons the whole neighbourhood can hear it. He’s read the envelope given to him over and over and he still can’t find any new information. He feels so utterly clueless. Maybe he isn’t as good with research as he initially thought. Sparks themselves aren't rare, but each one magically disappears in the next two years. As if they fell off the face of the earth. The ones who don't? Now that's rare - That's Stiles. Theoretically Sparks, according to the envelope, can live from hundred years to a thousand. Stiles’ supposed lifespan hasn’t sunk in yet, but he’s pretty sure it will later. Then he’ll freak out. A lot. Not right now though, right now he’s focused on finding the most recent, alive, Spark. 1789, was the last recorded one, more than 200 years ago. God he needs a team on this, tracking over 200 years of movement is annoying rather than interesting now. Another thing to add on his to do list. 

Lydia was the most interesting one. He researched around, getting “sleep-walking” and possible paranoia, yet the important facts that she  _ always  _ wakes up near a dead body as if her subconscious is pulled to the corpse, and this recurrence has started after finding out about the supernatural, Stiles suspects this too has something to do with the supernatural, since well, he's pretty sure she is one. He spins in his chair over and over on a Wednesday afternoon when he gets it, going through all his Mierdo lessons in his head. He got it. As soon as he picks up the phone to call, Allison’s name pops up. He quickly answers, “Ali I found out-”

“Lydia woke up next to a dead body again.” She throws out, in a panicked voice, “Please come here quickly, it’s in the woods behind the public pool. I'm going first, see you there.” Stiles runs out in seconds, contemplating to teleport when he shakes the outrageous idea away. He’d lead Deaton right to them. He speeds in his jeep, eager to get there and make sure they’re okay. He walks through the foggy woods in the humid air, finding the contrast diabolical. He gets the most amazing idea ever, calling them, but to his luck no signal. Cliché. The trees here are old and wise, parting for Stiles, as if they know where he needs to go. A sudden scream echoes. He runs towards the sound rapidly, the vibration and frequency of it so terrifyingly powerful it’s agonising. He holds his ears, gasping for breath once he comes to a stop. There stands Lydia in a thin light pink t-shirt, mouth agape, over a bloodied corpse. She’s vibrating, voice penetrating the air, through the silence of the trees, the fog, everything. Allison is bent near to her, eyes squeezed shut, covering her ears in a desperate attempt to stop the pain. Stiles stands bewildered.

“The bringer of Death, a Banshee.” Lydia’s a banshee.  _ Of course she is.  _

* * *

It was in the middle of training, a humid Wednesday after six. Derek, Scott, Isaac, Erica and Boyd were just packing up for the day when they heard, every werewolf in the mansion heard, a scream that brought pain. Screaming death. The new betas immediately wolf out at the danger alert shaking their entire body, the need to eliminate and protect the pack. Derek barely manages to control himself, panting so heavily he feels like passing out. He breathes in. He breathes out. He can feel the pack lines vibrate in panic, younger ones more violently in pain. Without warning, the scream of death numbed, allowing Derek to breathe properly and calm down. His fangs slowly retreat, claws too. He didn’t even notice they were showing. 

He quickly glances to the betas, all still wolfed out but calm. They nod in silent agreement. The five walk to the front of the house, where the other Hales resided. Everyone is there, chattering over each other. The wards of the house must’ve worked, as Derek can still feel that horrible feeling of  _ death _ , yet the scream remains hoarse and numb. 

“I’ll go.” Uncle Donovan firmly says, walking to the door. 

“Don.” The alpha warns, “I shall go. This is a powerful foe, You stay with the children.” She nods to her left hand man, and together they walk off towards the door. Xavier and Esme were towns away, Cora was still at the school, Laura and his dad were working. It was time for them to step up.

“We’re coming too.” Derek declares. 

“No, you shall stay here.” Talia commands, eyes flashing red. Derek almost bares his neck. Almost.

“No,” Some gasp, it’s the first Derek had ever disobeyed his mother, “We’re coming. You need back-up, and the betas are much more capable than you think.” For a few moments the mother and son have a staring contest, which the mother was going to win. Despite this, she gives in.

“Fine. But if I determine the threat to be far too much, you guys  **_will_ ** come back.” She uses her alpha voice, making the wolves bow down to their alpha, accepting the command. 

Derek expected the agonising scream to return once they ran out of the Hale mansion, however, it was the same numbing ache. His mother guides them through the woods, Peter to her left, Derek to her right, two behind the Alpha and one behind Peter and Derek. The smell hits them immediately once it’s in their radius, the distinct metallic smell of blood and disgusting pungent of a decaying body. 

“How many?”

“Three.” Peter immediately replies, “Plus a dead body.” Peter is the best at calculating the enemy’s weight, height, number, strength by just hearing the earth they step on and the smell in the air that they move through. “One is crouched, two are standing. Two of them are light and average, however, the other… I can’t pinpoint. Their feet dig deep into the earth when they step down, yet when they lift it, it’s so light as if it isn’t there.” Peter makes a confused face, focusing on his senses once more. “The two standing have crouched, we’re nearing.” 

They move as one, slowing down at Peter’s words and stepping lightly. They creep to the side and spread, attacking from the enemy’s flanks and surrounding them. Suddenly, his mother goes rigid. Instead of hiding to attack, she stands boldly and walks 'right through the front door'. Derek tries to call after her, panicking, when Peter does the same. The betas follow, the alpha’s menacing bloodlust completely dissipating. Including Peter’s and Peter’s is always there. Derek smells it, the enemy. Old spices and pinewood. Coffee. He runs past his mother, not believing his senses, but he knows that heartbeat, he has sat and listened to it for hours. 

There, in the middle of the clearing, is the rotten state of a slashed corpse, a passed out Argent on the earth floor, and a Stiles, Derek’s Stiles, holding Lydia Martin carefully in his arms, calling out her name as she remains unmoved and limp. 

Stiles looks up to the werewolves that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, eyes darting around desperately, staring intently towards Derek with a piercing gaze.

“Derek, help me.” He breathes, before completely passing out.  _ Again. _

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of sterek moments soon, hehe ^-^ I am going to pass out now bye.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	7. You smell lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles didn't go into hibernation again don't worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!
> 
> This will be my last chapter for at least a weak, I even stayed up writing it so I don't feel too guilty leaving such big gaps inbetween chapters. I put lots of sterek moments to calm my heart, feeling like i've betrayed people with 6 chapters in and not many sterek moments :(( SOME STILES ACTION TO, A WEE PEAK OF WHAT HE CAN DO !!
> 
> THE STORY IS DEFINTELY BUILDING UP THO LETS FUCKING GOOOO
> 
> I can not wait to write more friendship scenes between Lydia, Stiles and Allison, they're such a good trio! It's time for STILES TO UNVEIL some of his skills, little by little... Derek's life gets more drama in it too lol and Hale pack dynamics will be many next chapter, i miss Colton :(( 
> 
> I haven't done ANY schoolwork and i've got so many tests first day back, it's time to start cramming !!
> 
> So until next time, Camille .

“Stiles!” Scott calls, running to his aid. Derek gets there first, holding him up gently, touching Stiles’ face. It’s cold, really cold. Derek is about to full-blow panic, until he hears his mother barking out orders. 

“Scott, carry the young Argent, Boyd, carry Lydia, Derek, you carry Stiles and bring them back to the house. Erica, bring Deaton to the house and Isaac bring the sheriff here. Only the sheriff.” She deadpans, as Peter quickly examines the argent girl, Lydia and Stiles. He nods to Talia, indicating the three are okay, and the young betas quickly rush to the house. When Peter means okay, he only ever really means  _ alive.  _ The worry increases but he repeats to himself to focus, to sprint back to the house with all his might. 

There wasn’t any signal in this part of the woods, so Talia watches the five run to three different directions, knowing the woods very well from all the time they spend here. The alpha and her left hand examine the corpse. “What is it Pete?” Talia asks, noticing Peter’s eyebrows raised. 

“This body… it’s a werewolf.”

“Yes, I can tell that much.”

“No, the corpse became a werewolf after dying,” It’s Talia’s brows to rise this time, “With the slashes in their body, the smell… they died from blood loss. Look, no adult werewolf dies from such a scar.” Talia nods, not liking where this is going, “Someone slashed a human, let it bleed to death, gave it the bite,” He points to the bite mark on its leg, “and right after they died… they turned.” 

“That doesn’t make sense. The bite does not turn corpses.”

“Unless, it wasn’t the bite that turned them.”

“Are you saying someone found a way to turn humans into werewolves without needing the bite? Something so effective it can turn corpses?”

“Not someone.” The clogs and knots turn in Talia’s head, understanding what her left hand is indicating, she smells the air. “Magic.”

* * *

At the house, Donovan, Cora and Malia stand at the porch, sensing their panic and speed. Sometime during the run back, Stiles has thankfully woken up, though a big groggy. His words are slurry and the first thing he mutters was “So pretty” upon setting eyes on Derek’s face. Derek shoved the flush soaking in deep right down into the earth’s mantle, focusing on running back to the safety of the house. 

Boyd runs past with Lydia Martin, Donovan hot at his tail. Boyd lays the young girl onto an infirmary bed, in a room near the entrance. The infirmary was built after Talia Hale got tired of the blood that soaked her floors from the cubs’ endless fighting. Boyd sets her down, Donovan asking him quick, detailed questions. Boyd answers with not much confidence, he himself not quite sure as to what exactly is going on.

Outside, Cora and Malia are not letting Scott in, due to the passed out Argent girl in his arms. Derek gets agitated, voice roaring with a ferocity he’s never had before. “LET US THROUGH.” His eyes glowing a dangerous blue. The two instantly obey in fear. Without much care, Derek storms in, the groggy Stiles dizzy from all the noise and movement. Derek places the boy on the bed gently, talking in a soft voice so as to not alert him.

“Stiles? Stiles do you know where you are?” Stiles gives him one look and makes a really stupid grin.

“IN YOUR BEDROOM?” His hand presses against Derek’s cheek, “PRETTY.” He comments again, that stupid grin on his face. Derek tries again. 

“Stiles, do you know where you are?” Stiles looks around frantically, mostly to the ceiling. 

“On earth?” He questions, swaying his arms about, “ARE WE IN SPACE?” He lights up, “THIS IS SO COOL ARE WE IN A SPACESHIP? SPACESHIPS ARE REALLY COOL. COOL ARE SPACESHIPS, I CAN’T BELIEVE! SPACE. IS. PRETTY. COOL. OTHER THAN BLACK HOLES AND EXPLODING STARS AND THE EMPTY VOID AND THE COMPLETE SILENCE AND-” 

He makes a move to stand up, however, Derek gently pushes his chest back down. ”OH DEMANDING~” He flirts, pressing his chest into Derek’s hand. Derek blushes a little, their position a little strange once he thinks about it. God, he knows everyone else heard that. He lets go, crossing his arms and sitting back on the chair, acting serious.

“Stiles, where are you?” Stiles plays with his fingers before answering.

“IN YOUR HEART.” He winks, making a heart shape with his hands. Derek suddenly feels very tired. Stiles is acting like he’s-

“Drunk.” someone declares. Derek turns to the voice of Alan Deaton, standing in all his glory. He’s been so preoccupied worrying about the dazed boy he didn’t notice their emissary’s presence, “Why is Stiles drunk?” He questions, raising a brow. Before Derek can reply, Deaton is called by the sound of Donovan’s voice and he ushers over.

“HI ALAN!” Deaton flinches, turning around slowly, “DEATY IT’S ME!” Stiles flings his arms about, waving hello frantically. Deaton scowls, the first time Derek’s ever seen him have such an annoyed expression. It'll be hilarious if the situation isn't what it is. Derek can’t smell any alcohol, so _what is Stiles drunk on?_ “COME ON! DON’T GET ALL GRUMPY LIKE SOURWOLF HERE.” Derek is about to chuckle when he realises, in a millisecond, that the sourwolf in question is him. He automatically scowls. “SEE?” 

“Okay Stiles, stop shouting.”

“I’M NOT SHOUTING? I THINK I’D KNOW IF I WAS SHOUTING SOURWOLF.” Stiles shouts, genuine confusion written on his face. He leans forward, bending his neck to shift more comfortably on the bed. Derek smells blood. He perks, alert, sighting at the trail of blood dribbling out of Stiles’ ears. 

“Erica! Get me the first aid kit now!” He, Donovan and Deaton say at the same time. They all look at each other surprised, noticing the blood trickling down the Argent’s ears too. Donovan has lifted Lydia up, and almost immediately, blood trickled down her nose. The three look at each other with worry. Deaton and Donovan not for the girls, but for what it meant. What's to come. 

“WHY ARE MY EARS SO WARM?” Stiles suddenly shouts. Derek is shaken from the worried trance, and works on cleaning Stiles’ ears instead. 

“Because Stiles, there’s blood.”

“LET ME SEE.” He demands, going for Derek’s hand. The wolf snaps his arm away.

“Only if you stop shouting.”

“FOR THE LAST TIME I'M NOT SHOUTING! ” Derek feels Deaton near them, as Derek starts to gently wipe the boy’s neck. 

“What’s the last thing you remember Stiles?” He questions softly, though a scowl still on his face.

“ALLY CALLED ME! SAID LYDIA WOKE UP NEXT TO A DEAD BODY AGAIN!”

Deaton raises a brow, curious. “Again? Can you elaborate on that Stiles?”

“LYDIA HAS BEEN SLEEP WALKING INTO CORPSES. HEHE.” He giggles, just as Derek starts to move to the other ear, silent.

“How long have you known about this?” 

“AHH I CAN’T REMEMBER. LONG? I THINK? I'M THE BEST STUDENT THOUGH SO I REEESEARCHED~ ” Stiles pretends to be typing rapidly, bobbing his eyebrows. Derek touches Stiles’ skin,  _ he’s freezing. _

“Oh? What have you found out?” Deaton looks to the two girls, as if not really expecting that any information Stiles says could be useful. He goes rigid at Stiles’ reply.

“SHE’S A BANSHEEEEE~”He sings, smiling up at Derek. "SHE'S A BANSHEE SHE'S A BANSHEE" Stiles continues singing. Deaton carefully looks over at the three on the infirmary beds, the passed out human girl and the bleeding from the banshee’s, in question, nose, and to Stiles. Drunk Stiles. In seconds, everything pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. He can see the full picture, finally. 

“Derek, is Stiles’ temperature dropping?” Deaton asks calmly.

“How- yes.” Derek looks up, confused.

“Was he awake when you got there?”

“Yes but-” Deaton’s suspicions have been confirmed. He needs to talk to Talia. 

“Derek, make sure to clean and wrap him up. Once his temperature starts rising again, tell me.”  He thanks Stiles, before going over to the banshee, making sure she is what Stiles claims she is. 

“DEREK CAN I SEE MY BLOOD NOW?” Stiles interrupt the tense moment. Deaton sighs in annoyance, waving a hand over Stiles’ bed.

“Only if you stop shouting I said.” Derek scolds the teenager, feeling like he’s lecturing his eight year old cousin Lance than the sixteen year old.

“IM NOT- oh” Stiles giggles in a high voice, “I was shouting!” He exclaims, finding the whole ordeal hilarious. 

“Yes you were.” Derek grits his teeth, noticing some blood has trickled down into Stiles’ shirt. He shows Stiles the disinfectant wipe full of blood, which Stiles smiles at. 

“There’s so much! That’s amazing!”

“No it is not,” Derek tugs at Stiles’ shirt, asking permission. Stiles pushes him away, crossing his chest. 

“People.. Would see me naked.” He mutters, pointing to Erica. Erica rolls her eyes, shortly closing the curtains surrounding the pair. 

“Here Batman.” She says, footsteps walking away.

“Is it okay now?” Derek asks. Stiles gives Derek a shy look, before nodding a little. He places his arms down, noticing the blood stains on his chest. 

“Look Derry! Even more blood!” He happily exclaims, poking the small trails. Derek can’t hold back a chuckle, wiping the boy’s chest. The boy’s upper body is much more toned than he would’ve thought, for one, he never expected the boy to have abs. And not the kind you have because you're skinny with exercise and a good diet, the kind where you can evidently tell it was worked on, for years, developing. He isn’t as muscly as the werewolf, but nonetheless, Stiles works out. Or does some excessive sport. It kind of annoys Derek he doesn’t know which. 

“Derry you’re staring..” Stiles shifts, poking Derek’s side. 

“Oh sorry.” He quickly finishes up, not thinking about how smooth Stiles’ skin is and how amazing he smells right now. No, not at all. Also  _ Derry _ ? He doesn’t hate it.

Derek retreats from the bed, the wipes of blood in his hand and the bloodied shirt. Stiles grips Derek’s henley deadly, “Where are you going?”

“To get you warmer clothes.” He turns, about to open the curtains. The teenager grips tighter, an expression so distraught appears and Derek fists the bloodied t-shirt as to not hold the boy in his arms and comfort. 

“Don’t leave me,” Derek opens his mouth, “Don’t go.” Stiles whispers the latter with no slur, despondent. Derek closes his mouth. He opens it, closes it. He repeats. 

“Okay.” The wolf turns and bends to his knees, placing the wipes and shirt on the bed, “Come with me.” He waits to be rejected, ignored even, though, alternatively, toned arms wrap around his neck and plump thighs imprison his waist. Stiles silently tucks his face into Derek’s spine in response. Derek tenses for a second, not believing how easily Stiles just hopped on. The werewolf can feel his cold skin, not getting warmer at all. It worries him immensely. 

Everyone is busy with the sleeping beauties, not noticing the pair leave, Derek giving Stiles a piggyback ride. Derek passes Cora, Malia and Rose, all giving the frozen Stiles on his back a worried look. They can smell the disinfectant, the lingering whiff of blood and a corpse. Derek smiles, hoping to reassure them - it doesn’t work. He steps to the back, to the very private areas of the mansions. The bedrooms. 

He walks up a spiral staircase, the sound of his feet against the wood echoing. Stiles is completely silent as the wolf moves towards the very end of a hallway, and into his room. Stiles lifts his head once he hears the shut, click of the door. 

“Sorry Derry,”  _ That nickname again, _ “I felt dizzy.” Derek lightly pats his leg in response. 

Derek places the boy on his bed lightly, giving a one lookover to make sure he’s okay. Stiles on the other hand, though so cold, darts his eyes around the room completely fascinated. The room is quite large, being at the highest floor of the mansion. It’s certainly bigger than Stiles’ room, The bed a large king sized, bed sheets a plain dark shade of blue. It looks so soft, a furry blanket with so, so many pillows, and so Stiles shoves his face in it. He stretches his body out onto the soft mattress, messing up it’s previous clean state. He places the pillows at each side and lays on the furry blanket, bringing a thinner cover one over him. It smells of Derek; minty, of mahogany and a central masculine musk. He feels so comfortable on this bed, a first since he moved across the world. 

“Stiles?” Derek questions, finding the way Stiles peaks out from under the covers adorable, “What are you doing?” Stiles sits up, the cover falling off him. The tension shifts as Stiles looks up with a blush, half naked and wrapped around in Derek’s blankets. Derek needs to look away, it’s been silent for too long, it’ll turn awkward, but  _ fuck  _ he can not look at away. He doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t want to.  _ Derek, he’s 16,  _ he reminds himself.

“It’s cosy.” Stiles replies coolly, rubbing the blanket on himself a little.  _ Rubbing his scent. _ Derek feels like he’s going crazy, his heart has sped up and his wolf is practically screaming at him to join Stiles on the bed. Derek grips the t-shirt in hands, not exactly knowing what to do. Stiles seems to breathe and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been affected by another - never like  _ this. _

Derek doesn’t realise he’s bent forward, hand on the bed, nose almost touching Stiles’. Stiles blinks at him, breathing so close Derek can feel it on his lips. Stiles, underneath the smell of disinfectant and blood, smelt like everything Derek wanted to shove his entire being into. Stiles smelt like home. Stiles smelt intoxicating. Derek can’t stop gazing down at those pretty lips, if he could just move closer...“Um, my shirt?” Stiles is the one to break the silence first, pointing at the plain t-shirt in Derek’s hands. The man snaps out of the strong stupor, clearing his throat and standing. He hands it over. He feels how cold Stiles has gotten when their skin brushes past each other, filling him with the need to take care of the boy. 

“Stiles! You’re freezing!” He holds Stiles’ hands, biting his lower lip. “Put that on.” As Stiles puts the shirt over his head, Derek returns with a long sleeve and two hoodies. “Here, this hoodie is too small for me, and this one a little big. Put them  **_both_ ** on.” Stiles obeys, not liking the dangerous glint in the wolf’s eyes if he didn’t. But well, he kind of does.

“If I don’t, will you punish me?” Derek stares at him in disbelief.

“Stiles.” He warns.

“Okay okay, bloody hell what’s got your panties in a knot.” Derek grunts disapprovingly as he moves to his sock drawer, placing two pairs next to Stiles. He eyes Stiles’ silk pyjama, not liking it’s thinness. He rummages through for a thick jogging bottom he never really wears and places it next to the layered Stiles, who’s putting on the second layer of socks. In all black, Stiles laughs at himself, feeling absolutely ridiculous. 

“Derek, this is ridiculous. A second layer of socks? Really? In northern California?” He seems sobered up, the nickname Derry now gone. Derek throws away his slight disappointment. Derek gives his signature glare and crosses his arms, waiting for Stiles to put the jogging bottoms on. 

“Are you going to watch me dress down to my underwear too?” Derek’s ears go a little red and he turns with a scowl. He hears Stiles giggle.

“What now sourwolf?” Derek refuses to answer to such a name, so he doesn’t. “Hello? Did you fall asleep standing up? Are you having a dramatic flashback? Oh shit I shouldn’t interrupt those. Those are necessary for character development. Character development is actually my favourite genre. I love it so much. Oh, and gap moes. I’m not sure you know what that is, but you pouting to the nickname I just called you is an example of a gap moe.” All Derek got from that is,  _ Is Stiles saying he loves me? _

“Sourwolf.” Stiles calls. Derek turns, something about it feeling so… “I asked what’s next?”

This was definitely a bad idea. Stiles is laying on his bed, wrapped up in his clothes, surrounded by his scent of pillows and blankets, asking him “What's next?”. Derek wants to die. He hopes the ground opens and swallows him up. And  _ god,  _ does Stiles look so good doing it.  _ Fuck  _ his scent is  _ everywhere. _

Derek’s brain short circuits and the next thing he knows he’s shut himself in the bathroom. He didn’t even reply, he just turned and walked into his bathroom. Derek feels incredibly humiliated. He wants to jump out his window. Maybe he should… it’s far from the ground but he won’t die. Long healing process though. 

“Derek? You okay?” Stiles questions, knocking on the door. Derek clears his throat before replying, feeling too hot in the bedroom. 

“Yes, I just need a shower.” He tiptoes, turning the shower on but not stripping himself of any clothes. 

“Oh okay, I’ll wait at the bed.” Derek hears footsteps grow a little faint, then nothing. He listens out for the boy’s heartbeat, making sure this isn’t all an illusion and Stiles is okay. He’s alive. He isn’t in a two week coma. He notices Stiles’ breathing evening out, getting slower. Feeling more relaxed, he strips and actually gets in the cold shower. 

He thinks about how he could feel like this for the boy, things he shouldn’t feel. Firstly, he has a girlfriend. Just the thought of cheating on her makes his chest ache. He can’t do that to Victoria. And the boy’s merely a teenager! He hasn’t gone through even half of Derek’s life experiences, their relationship simply wouldn’t work. It won’t be balanced. One always has some sort of power of the other in most age gap relationships, he can’t do that to Stiles. Additionally, He’s a human too. Though that was the last on his mind - what if, say, he somehow got with him in the future? Things didn’t work out with Victoria, would he forgive himself if anything happened with the boy because of him? Because of what he is? Derek… he knows he can’t protect everyone. He hates how useless he feels.

Derek chuckles a little, the thought of protecting Stiles. After all, it was Stiles that saved them at the station, it was Stiles who saved all of them. That night replays in his head again. He groans deep, because it doesn’t matter how scared he is of Stiles, how mysterious, secretive, there’s always this gravitational pull he can not deny. Derek hates this, so much. He hates how he can’t push Stiles away even more, as much as he desires it. His mind wanders to the pictures Kira has shown him weeks before...

Stiles is a family friend, that’s all he is. Even thinking about a relationship is weird, there’s nothing between them. Stiles’ father is close with his mother and grandma, that’s their only relation. And that will not change anytime soon.

Once he’s out, he smiles at the sleeping form of Stiles, splattered across his bed. He groans as his wolf, shouting to join the boy and cuddle him close. Derek’s never been a cuddler, until now. Stiles looks so comfortable laying in Derek’s bed, like it’s calming to be there. Derek ignores his wolf rumble, he ignores how right this feels. Because it isn’t. It can’t be.

He starts to get worried when Stiles doesn't move for some time, but as he quickly dresses, Stiles shifts to the side and Derek’s quickening heartbeat calms down. He notices the pack lines are all calm now, none panicked. 

He watches Stiles peacefully sleep for a moment, touching his face. He’s still freezing. So, Derek does what anyone else would do - wrap Stiles up like a burrito. He lifts Stiles up, careful not to wake him, wrapping the furry blanket around him efficiently and tucking it into his feet. He holds the boy close to him as he wraps him up in the blankets a little loose, allowing Stiles to shift and move about. He presses the pillows around him like a circle, leaning back to observe his work. He’s proud, nodding a little to himself. Then it hits him,  _ it looks like a nest. _ A blush definitely did not appear, not at all. 

He watches Stiles a little longer, (a lot longer actually) stroking his face and making sure the temperature is rising. It is a little.  _ Thank god.  _ With a final look at the sleeping boy, he steps out to find Deaton.

Deaton was busy speaking to the awakened Argent girl. They talk quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping Lydia. Stands behind Deaton is Donovan, watching their exchanges. As the Hale’s formal emissary, he dealt with negotiations with other packs, humans, etc. Some of the werewolves in the house can smell the human, anxious. Donovan and Boyd stand aback, just in case the Huntress in her blood tries anything. Scott sits next to the girl, having been attending to her the whole time and didn’t notice much of anything else. On the run back, Scott heard Stiles’ voice. He sighed in deep relief, his best friend is okay. He trusts Derek, though the wolf seemed so, very worried with Stiles to the point it raised suspicions. He pushed it away, there were more dire matters at hand. 

At the sight of Derek, both Scott and the Argent girl rise up. Donovan and Boyd immediately shift to battle mode, subconsciously moving in front of Derek to block the girl’s view.

“Is Stiles okay? Where is he? He’s awake right?” The girl blurts out, shaking in worry. The room gets a little tense, all never knew how close Stiles and the huntress had gotten. Derek wonders how many more secrets Stiles keep.

“He’s fine.” Derek tries to act annoyed, but he finds himself saying it in a softer tone than he thought. Saying it aloud feels really good, especially because he believes it. He turns to Deaton, ignoring the girl’s blissful face.

“Oh thank god.” She slumps back on the bed, “God I put him up to this. I should’ve never said anything.” That feeling that creeped up, telling Derek the argent is a little okay, okay enough to not kill, is gone in milliseconds. Derek’s nostrils flared.  _ She’s the reason he- _

The werewolves notice Derek’s sudden anger, to which Donovan and Boyd pressed a reassuring grip on his shoulders to calm down. Donovan shakes his head at him. 

“Can I see him?” The girl questions.

“He’s asleep.” the girl and Scott whip their neck in panic, “He’s moving.” He reassures his beta. Scott visibly relaxes and Deaton speaks.

“How is he?”

“I came to tell you his temperature is rising.” Derek informs, clearing his throat a little. 

“Can you bring him here.” Derek can tell it isn’t a request. He doesn’t like being told what to do besides his parents but strangely when it’s concerning Stiles he doesn’t mind. He really hates this, he barely knows anything about the boy. 

As Derek lifts the boy wrapped in a burrito, he spots a phone he doesn’t recognise at his side stand. He picks it up, a picture of the Sheriff lights up. He stands next to a woman with long flowy, auburn hair, eyes the exact same as Stiles’. He recognises her, she’d ruffle his hair whenever he came to the Stilinski household and give him a warm smile. Next to the two is an older woman resembling Claudia, whom he doesn’t recognise. There, next to her, is a younger version of Stiles. 11? 12 maybe. His hair is long, reaching his eyes. He wears a vest and shorts, to go with the visible hot, humid weather in the picture. He suspects the picture was taken somewhere in southeast Asia. Stiles groans and shifts in his arms, just as the phone in hand starts ringing. 

The name, “debter” pops up. Derek finds it would be rude to answer, so he lets it ring as he starts to walk down the staircase. The person doesn't ring again, however Derek hears a message pop up. Two words.

  
  


**debter**

**It’s done.**

Derek has no idea what it means, and it’s not really his business, so he locks the iPhone and continues throughout the house. There’s another ping, Derek can’t resist to take a peak. It’s not his fault, it appears on the lock screen. It’s from a person called “Babcia” and in a language he doesn’t understand, the only thing he does, is the word “Stiles”. Derek can’t stop glancing down at Stiles’ lock screen on top of him, the shining beam of his younger face makes the corner of his lips etch into a small smile.

Once at the infirmary, Allison quickly attempts to get up at the sign of the sleeping boy, though her dizziness said otherwise. Scott gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, despite the tang of jealousy in his chest which he completely ignores as he hurries over to his best friend. 

“Good you wrapped him up,” Deaton mindlessly comments, already working on untangling the boy, “Derek help me.” Stiles, feeling himself shaken, blinks his eyes open, shocked at the very close faces peering over him.

“What’s going on? Why am I being-” He halts, his head absolutely pounding. He suddenly sees flashes, flashes of Blue like he was there again. He barely notices Deaton rubbing some sort of, green, warm liquid on the back of his head and neck, rubbing softly to his temples and ears to finish at the base of his neck. Stiles relaxes from his tense state, the pounding flowing away like water on a stream. He holds onto a warm arm as he steadies himself, relinquishing in the warmth spreading and his strength returning like an espresso shot. He feels tingly and twitchy, gripping onto the arm and stroking with a thumb to distract himself.

“Stiles? How do you feel?” At Deaton’s question, Stiles freezes, nails deep into the arm. Memory of him and the other girls being rushed into the house, his loud drunken behaviour, the weird moment up in Derek’s room… and he realises exactly what Deaton had done to him. Elijah had done it to him only once before. Before he can question the pack emissary or even raise a brow to indicate visual suspicions, Stiles is muddled in dark brown, curly strands which distinctly smells of pomegranate and raspberry.

“Sti, I’m so glad you’re okay.” The five werewolves and their emissary watch the reunion silently, as Stiles wraps his arms around the girl in return. They embrace tightly, an intimacy Scott and Derek can’t make themselves watch, the nickname not going unnoticed. Stiles clenches his lips as he leans more into the Argent’s shoulder, thankful the Hales took care of her when he couldn’t do much himself. They part with arms still locked around each other, a smile they can’t suppress showcases itself. Allison can’t help but worry like a mother hen, checking his face that strongly smelled of incense and something spicy that’ll burn her eyes if the liquid ever wandered in there. Stiles does the same however, peering into her eyes and checking her ears.

“I gave her something for her ears. It’s healing.” Deaton includes into their little bubble of relief and love. Stiles gives him a silent “thank you” and finally retreats his arms. Allison doesn’t stop touching him however, settling on holding his hands. Derek strokes where Stiles had previously dug his nails in.

“I can’t believe how ridiculous this all is.” Stiles comments, gaze towards both Scott and Allison. Scott walks to his side, hugging him gently and feeling the warm skin underneath his fingers. Scott had felt how cold he was briefly out in the woods, scared shitless. He reminds himself that Stiles is okay. Feeling better, his arm loosens though not pulling away. 

“Tell me about it.” Both Allison and Stiles laugh, “The Argents are freaking out right now.” Considering how dark it’s gotten through the window, and the young huntress holding his hand in the Hale mansion past her curfew, they’re searching for her unless the werewolves tell them their youngest is in their den. He doubts it.

At the mention of the name, all werewolves tense up except for the two holding hands, laughing so hard as if nothing wrong has happened at all. 

“Ally, do you have  _ one  _ normal friend?” Stiles comments, holding onto his side. The girl looks at Stiles up and down before deciding on an answer, “Clearly I don’t.” She replies back.

The others shift a little, confused at the exchanges and chatter. The Argent does not at all feel scared, even nervous being in the same room as so many werewolves, and frankly, the human boy acts as if this is an everyday, normal occurrence. 

“How’s Lydia?” He asks Deaton, though Allison answers for him. The emissary does not like that one bit. 

“She’s okay. Knocked out though like the rest of us.” Scott sits next to him on the bed and in response Allison moves to hold his hand as well. A bit shocked at the girl's almost natural act and nonchalant expression, he still lets her. “A banshee huh. No wonder.”

As Derek opens his mouth to question, the sheriff flies through the doors with a face full of despair. Upon setting eyes locked onto his son’s peppy smile, it turns to a quick scowl. Everyone watches in astonishment as the boy gets whacked on the head, followed by a painful flick to the forehead. Stiles abandons his hands in Allison’s to swiftly cater his now, unpleasant forehead.

“You’re always in the middle of trouble.” His father scolds, “Even back then I was getting calls of broken bones,” Another forehead flick, “Trespass and theft,” Another flick, “Burning your hair!”, he finishes, flicking with both forefingers.

“For the last time, we were borrowing!” Derek tries to recount any scars he saw on Stiles’ body for the symbol of an old broken bone, he scowls remembering none. The others stand bewildered, finding Stiles a little more daring than they thought. Just a little bit.

“Burning your hair?” Scott questions. Stiles shrugs with a sheepish grin. As the four bicker and chatter with each other, Derek felt further and further away from Stiles. Those are his people, his loved ones. He’ll never be a part of that, rightfully standing next him. He’s stronger, faster yet he always feels so small next to the boy. As if he’s nothing compared to him. This is the blow for him, finally accepting these longing needs for the boy is not the need to be with him, but to  _ be  _ him. After all, how could he ever feel such things for a 16 year old stranger? It simply didn’t make sense. They are far, very far, different people. Too different.

Stiles turns to Lydia’s sleeping form then to Derek, with a lingering worried gaze. “I assume they were caught then?” Stiles questions. All playful banter comes to a halt.

“‘They’?” Derek raises a brow.

“The werewolf that was behind you.” Slowly, confusion travels across his face, “The one who was trying to get away?”

“What werewolf?” Donovan perks, alert. The memory returns to Derek in slow, fluid motions. Stiles wasn’t staring at him, but at something _behind_ him.

“Where’s my mother?” Derek asks in an icy voice towards the sheriff. 

“She’s with Peter and Isaac, waiting for Laura. Nicholas had just gotten there when I left." Stiles gets his question answered, immediately standing.

“That’s a no then.” Stiles comments, standing in all his layers of black. His demeanour completely 180’s, tensing his jaw. He talks with a nonchalant expression, a seriousness lacing in his voice none of them has ever heard before, except for the huntress. They shiver at the intensity of Stiles’ tone, “They would still be there somewhere,” He unzips the giant hoodie and the hoodie under it, plopping it on the bed. He stands, looking over himself with a sigh. “I haven’t exercised in a while.” 

Allison giggles, “We went the other day.” Stiles smiles at her as she also stands.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Erica asks from her corner, an eyebrow raised. Stiles talks as Allison beckons him to turn around, checking his form. 

He ignores Erica's question. “When I got there, Lydia was of course screaming her lungs out. Allison was already there too. You all saw the dead body. But, It wasn’t just us there,” Allison nods at him and then it’s her turn, turning in her step, The werewolves eagerly listens to his heartbeat, waiting for a lie, “There were two of them, standing opposite Lydia. One looked like a werewolf, dirty and wild. Probably feral,” He nods at Allison, “The other wore a mask, a bit smaller than the werewolf. They just stood there, watching her scream.” The two of them touch their ears, their neck, like they have many times after the talk of Lydia in the park. His heart was completely steady.

“Why are you only telling us this now?!” Derek growls out, chest rumbling with anger. He feels betrayed, even if there’s nothing to feel betrayed about. Stiles isn’t important to him.  _ nope. _

“With how laid back everyone was, I assumed it was dealt.” He stretches to the ceiling with outstretched arms, as Allison simultaneously copies though stretching to the floor, “Did you not detect their presence?” The boy taunts, though still a genuine question, “They were still there when you and the others came.” Him and Allison swap positions briefly, twisting their bodies as if at an exercise session. 

Derek, Erica, Scott and Boyd look at each other with knowing looks, “No, we didn’t.” Derek breathes out. The betas with the exception of Scott stride towards the doors.

“Derek! Nicholas and Pete are with her. She’ll be fine.” Donovan says, holding onto his nephew’s wrist. Derek  _ knows  _ how strong his uncles and father are, not to mention his Alpha mother who’s the strongest of them all, but nothing, _ nothing,  _ is gonna stop him from making sure they’re okay. Before Derek can audibly protest, Stiles speaks up. 

“The one in the mask is very dangerous. Be wary of them.” He informs. Derek gives a nod to him, clenching his jaw. He’s jittery and he needs to leave  _ now.  _

“Scott.” He practically growls out, and Scott simply obeys with an apologetic look to his best friend and crush. He follows after them, Donovan hot on their tail trying to convince Derek once more. The room goes silent, except for the rhythmic breathing and movements of the two stretching. 

“What are you Stiles?” Deaton asks, bluntly, “Are you what I think you are?” Stiles smiles at that, chuckles even as he breathes in deeply. 

“Ask your Alpha.” He gives the druid a smirk, “Thanks for the green stuff. It really helped.” He walks to the side of Lydia’s bed with Allison behind her, scanning the girl’s calm, peaceful sleep. “Tell her this is much bigger than it seems.” Allison moves to tuck a strand of strawberry blonde behind Lydia’s ear, “Watch your step druid, be careful.” His eyes flashes of white and gold, leaving as quickly as it came. “This enemy’s prickly.” He giggles, turning to stride to the exit. The druid’s face remains nonchalant. 

“Stiles.” His father calls. He’s terrified, he’s never seen his son act like this. Serious, all-knowing, condescending, brimming with such authority. He wasn’t always there for Stiles, he admits to not knowing all the sides and secrets of his son, so he can’t find it in himself to tell him not to go. “Come back in time for dinner.” 

“Okay.” His reply comes in a soft, appreciative voice. Allison thanks the druid and gives the sheriff a light hug, “Be careful.” He tells both of them. 

As the two stand in front of the Hale House, alone and in the quiet, Allison whips out her phone to text her father. Once done, she nudges her friend right in the ribs. “Time to stretch some legs.” The rest of the Hale family watch from their respective windows, curious as to what’s going on. 

“Let’s go.”

And the two run off into the preserve, Stiles careful to not go too fast. They run side by side, Allison feeling such freedom only with Stiles. She loves it. They run together in matching paces, though Stiles a little faster, into their spot in the preserve. A little section Allison knew no werewolf knew of - entered. Where they would let off some steam. There, in their favourite hiding spot at the base of an old tree, lies their favourite accessories. Stiles fiddles with his rings. 

“Your first kill. Excited?” Stiles questions.

“Mhm. Nervous.” Allison answers, focus on cleaning her arrows a little. 

“I’ll distract it. You shoot whenever you feel confident.” He reassures the young huntress, unsheathing a small, curved blade and checking its sharpness.

“How long can you hold out?” Stiles thinks about the stinky creature, eyes blood red with no traces of any kind of morality in his eyes. 

“However long you need.” Stiles hasn’t fought without his magic in a while, and he's practically buzzing with excitement. He beams, a smile that reaches his eyes. 

“You have 10.” 

“Minutes?”

“Seconds.”

“Don’t talk so big, did you see it’s size?”

“The bigger the target, the easier the shot.” Allison stands prepped, daggers in her sleeves and bigger ones strapped to her thighs. 

“10 Seconds it is.” Stiles wears a holster for his iridescent, curved blades. They’re his ‘babies’. Two more, sword like structures as big as his hands strapped around his waist, resting on his lower back. Allison hands him a gun, but Stiles shakes his head. He’s always liked knives over guns. They’re quieter, elegant, graceful. Knives were flexible. He doesn’t have a collection just to look at.

“What if they’re there?” Stiles quirks a brow, “The pack.”

“Does it matter? You’ve claimed your kill on the feral werewolf.”

“You’re a lot scarier than you look Stiles.” She huffs out a sigh, as if dealing with the boy is a chore. Stiles tucks a strand of her hair behind an ear, giving an evil smile.

“It’s time to officially become a hunter.”

  
  


They talk as they run side by side, Stiles giving her an extra boost as anything slower and Stiles would get annoyed. Not that she notices, she's exploding in adrenaline.

“The werewolves didn’t sense them. So we can’t rely on our smell, vision and hearing to detect them.” Allison glances over, showing she’s listening intently, “So, we’ll just have to drown them out.”

“How would we do that?”

“The werewolf didn't attack us. Why do you think that?”

“Lydia started screaming as soon as they appeared…”

“Exactly. He was scared of the Banshee. And is Lydia here?” Stiles strokes a few trees as he runs past, “What would a feral werewolf do when they smell two humans alone in the woods?” They enter the foggy, darker areas, spreading their scent everywhere. Then, Stiles takes it a step further. Unsheathing one of his baby blades from the holster, He cuts his shoulder a little. He doesn’t react to the pain, planting his blood onto the wooden barks and the floor. A few moments past before what Stiles had just done registers in Allison's mind.

“Stiles! Why did you-” They hear a howl. An aggressive one, completely different to the beautiful ones Stiles had heard before. 

“They’re coming.” Allison takes that as her cue to take her position behind the trees, bow and arrow at the ready. She calms her beating heart, breathing in slowly and out. She spreads some wolfsbane paste she stole from her father onto two arrows, knowing that’s all she needs. She's been training for this, she can do it. She watches Stiles stand, still and waiting. He holds the blood stained blade in his right hand, heart thumping so loud he’s sure the whole town can hear it. His magic buzzes excitedly, ready to fight. He can feel his magic dance again. He suppresses it, wanting to fight a raging alpha werewolf without his magic. He needs to know how stronger he’s gotten. His magic disagrees, wanting to join the battle. Stiles breathes deeply, washing out his magic in long strides, and calming it. He thought of mahogany and mint. A growl escapes from his right. 

Stiles instinctively throws his blade to the sound, hearing a whimper. He dramatically cranes his neck to the increased growls and grumbles, watching the tall, muscle freak of a being holds his teared ear.

“Oops.” The werewolf, unrecognisable under all it’s fur and fangs, pulls out the blade from where it landed on the tree behind with long, bloodied claws, licking the blade. It grunts, eyeing the cut on Stiles’ shoulder. “Come, you mutt.” 

At those words, the wolf lunges at the spark, blade abandoned on the forestry floor. He grabs for Stiles’ neck, which Stiles dodges. He ducks dangerously low, stabbing a tendon with his dagger, and slicing across the belly with his other, sheer purple of a blade. The werewolf howls in pain, clawing at Stiles wildly. Stiles dodges all with ease, being able to read the wolf’s animalistic patterns well. “4.” The werewolf grabs Stiles’ neck, hauling him up against a tree, a wicked grin on its face. Stiles breathes out, twisting his fingers with the dagger in rapid, experienced movements, changing direction to slice deep into the werewolf’s shoulder that connects to the hand around his neck. The werewolf doesn’t react, yet the hold on him loosens, and in milliseconds, Stiles kicks against the tree, flying upwards, travelling all his weight and strength into the dagger, “7” He coughs out, using the werewolf’s body to propel himself higher, twisting the blade with both, powerful arms. The Were cries as Stiles jumps off swiftly, slashing at the nape and rolling on the grass, resulting in a crouched fighting stance. He grips the grass, “9”. The werewolf is even angrier now, picking up speed as he sprints towards the Spark, mouth dribbling with the need for blood. His eyes glow brighter than before. 

Stiles watches in fascination as the werewolf nears, that desperation, when an arrow seep its way into the werewolf’s juncture, halting his movements. “10” The werewolf turns to the direction of where the arrow came from, getting punctured by another right at where the heart would be. It coughs black blood, the wolfsbane quickly spreads it’s poison, it’s skin turning as crimson as its eyes and veins as black as it’s hair. 

It glances between it’s chest and the boy just centimetres away from it, falling slowly backwards with a loud thud that echoes throughout the branches and it’s leaves. Allison emerges from the trees, a little shaken up, but nonetheless proud of herself. Stiles pulls a hand over him, reaching the ground behind him and pushing against the ground with his feet, thrusting backwards into a standing position in one swift motion. The two peers over the werewolf, drops of blood from Stiles’ shoulder landing on the wolf’s forehead. They watch it die as Stiles collects his things, whipping out a handkerchief and cleaning his blades.

“Good job Ally, two clear shots.” Allison brightens at the compliment with a quick glance over, preoccupied with following the poison travel through the veins. Stiles tucks his clean babies away, taking out two more handkerchiefs to lay on his shoulder and the other on Allison’s sweaty hands and face. 

“You were amazing Stiles.” Allison compliments back, taking over Stiles’ job of wiping her face. “That jump to twist with the blade was beautiful.” Stiles smirks her way, taking out his phone. He takes a few pictures of the werewolf before hiding it away again and pulling out the dagger on its shoulder. With his face so close, he isn’t surprised when the werewolf weakly attempts to slash his neck- he avoids the claws quite easily. 

“My betas.” It breathes out, “I want my betas.” Stiles crouches, curious. 

“Who are your betas?”

“The fucking Hales stole them.” Stiles watches the head get a bit purple, “Mocked me- bringing them a-along.” Stiles frowns, confused at first when it clicks. The Hales never bit Scott.  _ This  _ was Scott’s alpha.

“You smell of death,” Stiles comments, kind of forgetting Allison’s presence, “How many innocents have you killed?” At that question the werewolf fucking grins. It grins so bright, showing off it’s massive fangs.  _ Demon _ Stiles thinks.

Allison, furious, grabs an arrow and draws her bow from a distance. No wolfsbane. She breathes out, releasing the bow. The arrow impels right between the Alpha’s brows, leaving a sickly smile on the dead werewolf. The arrow doesn’t drive as deep into it’s face as the others, but the murder by passion is evident, the anger flowing through the winds fiercely. Allison looks over at the werewolf and scowls, “Disgusting.” She murmurs.

Stiles holds onto her arm, hoping to calm her. The werewolf was dead, skin black and a bruised purple. The stab to the tendon healed ages ago on the other hand the deep slash across the belly and the twisted stab on the shoulder bled openly, red at first then black. It’s a disgusting sight to see.

“How do you think the Hales are doing?” Allison questions, staring at the ooze, dirty blood soak into the earth. 

“Wanna go see?” 

* * *

_ What the fuck is happening. _

The betas stand frozen, bewildered. The person in the mask as Stiles described, stands, in equal strength to the Hale Alpha, fighting with slashes, jumps and punches at a speed only Derek can ever imagine. They spot Isaac unmoving against a thin tree, belly against the green grass. Scott and Boyd immediately move to him, making sure he’s okay. Peter and Nicholas fight another, a different mask and build - what seems to be the body of a woman. Nicholas plunges a powerful punch to her stomach, as Peter slashes her side. Derek spots her sister limp, a fair distance from his mother, belly out in the open. Derek nods to Erica, panic strong in his chest but he chooses to assess the situation first. Save now, panic and freak later.

The alphas and their left hand notices the presence, smelling them in the air. Not wanting to lose focus, Talia Hale continues defending, striking with a strong slash. She grits her teeth, meeting eyes with her husband. As Derek feels for Laura’s pulse, alive and thumping, he greatly sighs. 

“Derek!” His mother calls, just as a strong, veiny hand grabs his neck. He tries to move, but he moved too slow, the masked man holding him up by the neck. Due to Talia’s call for her son, Peter and Nicholas look over, distracted. The masked woman strikes, the opportunity given on a silver platter, just as she was losing- kicking Peter against the cheek and knocking him out. 

“Don’t get distracted now.” Her voice came out in a gruff, breathless. 

“Fuck.” Nicholas comments. He continues, his resolve unyielding with the need to protect his pack. Boyd enters the fight, along with Scott. The two betas strike as one in between Nicholas’ strikes and punches, immensely focused on the enemy before them. They centre their attacks in one area, then on another. Nicholas is quite impressed.

Erica body slams into the masked man, aggressively biting his side with her fangs. The masked man drops Derek, attention now on the newly female beta in the Hale pack. She spits out a chunk of flesh, fangs dripping red. 

“Disgusting.” She comments, spitting out blood. The masked man behind the man smiles, and together, the alpha Hale and her beta attack the masked man. Where Erica’s attacks are wild and fast, the Alpha’s were strong and precise, though both highly ranked in agility. The two moved as if with the ability to read each other’s minds, dodging while the other attacked. 

They don’t know how long they’ve all been battling, Derek still immobilized out on the floor from the chokehold. Erica and Talia are still going strong, both with great endurance. Scott however, is nearing his strength, exhaustion taking over most of his body. The preserve is quiet, except for the sounds of contacted jabs and slashes, and the grunts and heaves the only thing you could ever hear from each of them. The concentrated air felt suffocating, the pressure getting worst as time goes by. 

The masked man needed to change the flow somehow. With an idea, he spins on his heel, expertly throwing the only dagger laced with wolfsbane to the sleeping form of what he found out, as ‘Derek’. “NO!” Talia Hale calls, grabbing for it.  As the dagger travels close, Erica runs for it, hoping to get penetrated instead. The dagger stops, something has disrupted its course, another sharp dagger that reeked of blood.

“Can’t let you do that buddy.” Stiles emerges from the trees, a smirk and a hand on his waist. As soon as Allison emerged from behind him, she shot two arrows so rapidly it seemed she did them at once; one slashed into the masked man’s wrist, the other penetrated deep into the masked woman’s thigh. “I owe him.” Stiles finishes.

The werewolves can smell the wolfsbane of the two and see the blood stains coating the them, as if arriving from another battle of their own.

“Spark.” The masked man whispers, “Huntress.”

In milliseconds, Stiles closes the distance across the clearing in one jump, going for a punch. The masked man blocks it easily, “You are weak.” He comments, face to face with Stiles.

“Your mutt didn’t seem to think so.” Stiles replied, a dark grin plastered on his face. The masked man looked down, finally noticing the dagger he’s been stabbed with. He stumbles back as Stiles retreats the dagger, curving it around his fingers as the masked man stumbles backwards. Erica holds him as Talia goes for an all-kill; Nicholas claws deep into the masked woman, when a shout spears the tension. 

“Let go of them, or she dies.” Another masked man, on the lean side, has a long sharp sword to Allison’s neck, holding her by the waist. Boyd continues anyways, not exactly caring for the girl, but Stiles is inflamed with ferocious anger. His magic is no longer concealed, hidden away in a calm state, it’s fire. His whole body feels like he’s burning. Allison is calm, finding the sword non-threatening at all compared to the bloodlust Stiles was omitting. 

“Talia.” Stiles addresses in a cold, icy voice. She nods to him.

“Everyone, stop.” Nicholas squeezes the masked woman’s insides first, before reluctantly letting go. Everyone watches as Erica huffs out an annoyed breath, letting go of the masked man.  The leaner masked man drags Allison with him, to the masked man’s side. He reaches out a hand to the masked man and before the said person can take it, he gasps loudly.

Allison has stabbed him in the stomach, twisting the blade and slicing into the flesh upwards. The sword touches her neck for a second, as if about to slice across, though halted by Stiles’ fast movements with a dagger to his elbow. The lean masked man drops to his back, completely shocked, his insides out for everyone to see. 

Talia finishes the Masked man in seconds, grabbing his heart, beating with life, and disabling it out with clawed hands. The alpha holds the heart as large as her fist, staring at it with utter disdain, before crushing it with all her might. The blood trickles along her arm as she throws the useless thing away. Stiles silently hands her a clean handkerchief, which she accepts. 

“Thank you.” She genuinely thanks him, cleaning herself up. “Thank you Allison.” The girl beams, “Thank you Erica.” Erica shifts awkwardly, not used to such sincerity. 

As Nicholas breaks the masked woman’s neck, he answers Boyd's questioned look. “Her bleeding out takes too long.” He replies softly, giving him a small smile, “You were great Boyd, you too Scott.” Boyd’s ears turn a little red at that. Scott grunts from the floor, so tired he can fall asleep in the middle right then and there, barely registering Stiles and Allison’s presence. 

It was then that both Laura and Isaac shift awake, groaning loudly as they struggle to raise to their feet. Boyd helps Isaac up, as Erica helps Laura up too. Boyd collapses next to Isaac, the adrenaline disappearing, exhaustion seeping in. Talia moves to her daughter, having her lean against a tree. Stiles watches everyone relax, taking out the dagger from the man silently and wiping it with a handkerchief he used earlier. Erica notices. 

“Where did you learn to move like that?” Erica excitedly says, astonished. Stiles gives her a laugh, wiping his hands. 

“I’ve learnt a few things over the years.” Allison walks over with a smile. Erica scowls at her entrance, tiredly walking away to join Isaac and Boyd, dragging Scott by the feet with her. Allison watches with a fond expression over Scott’s dazed eyes. That doesn’t go unnoticed by Stiles. 

It was completely dark now, the werewolves manoeuvring with ease compared to the clumsy Allison. Stiles, with great spatial awareness, doesn’t have much trouble. Suddenly, Derek groans underneath Stiles, fingers twitching. Stiles bends his knees, leaning over and talking in a soft voice. “You awake?” Derek slowly lifts himself up, muscles flexing. Stiles tears his eyes from it, ashamed. “Do you know where you are?” 

Derek opens his eyes to a sparkly Stiles. Literal sparkle. He blinks a few times, not believing what he sees, realising it’s just Stiles looking beautiful as ever, he reaches with a hand to cup Stiles’ sweaty, bloodied face, the boy bathing in his scent, wearing  _ his  _ clothes. Stiles giggles, rubbing his soft cheek against Derek’s rough hand “Wake up sleeping beauty.” Allison watches, fascinated at how quickly Stiles’ mood changes when Derek’s involved. She smiles all knowingly to herself.

Stiles helps him up, gazing at the disappearing red marks on his neck.  _ Werewolf healing.  _ Derek starts coughing violently, chest shaking. Stiles lightly rubs his back, a slight fondness slips when he speaks, “Our roles are reserved now.” Derek gives him a small smile.

Derek looks over at the dead masked man, a gaping hole in his chest. His mother hurries over, hugging him tightly with a trembled lip. He hugs his mother back just as tightly, so happy she’s okay. Stiles stands, not wanting to ruin the moment, tearing the mask from the man. He whips out his phone from his jogging bottoms -  _ Derek’s  _ jogging bottoms - and takes a picture of where the face would be. 

Allison joins him, wanting to know a face. Neither of them recognise it, giving each other curious looks. The bodies are not of werewolves, or humans, considering the speed and strength. Not to mention the glowing silver irises. Stiles closes the man’s eyelids, the only respect for the corpse he can give. He catches Nicholas doing the same. 

The awakened Peter stands slowly with grunts, frantically glancing around the atmosphere of quiet chatters, “What did I miss?” 

All trek back to the Hales after disposing of the bodies, their own, alive, but tired ones slugging through the preserve. Thankfully no one had excessive injuries, mostly cuts and bruises which were already healing. Allison and Stiles walk side by side quietly, weapons tucked away. Everyone else was too tired to ask questions and thought nothing of it. Allison hands over one of Stiles’ blades she used to cut the lean masked man, mouthing “thank you”. He nods, slipping it into his holster. As they neared the Hale home, Talia spoke up. 

“We’ll all meet in the meeting room in 30 minutes. In the meantime, rest and wash up.” The group walked into the mansion smelling of blood and death, of sweat and exhaustion, of fear and relief. The younger ones were tucked in the back of the home, ordered by Donovan, as to not scare them. Xavier and Esme stand from the couches, gobsmacked at their miserable forms despite returning safely. The two help those with cuts and bruises still healing, others scattering to their rooms or areas. Stiles and Allison stand in the centre awkwardly, still in battle-mode, smelling of wolfsbane and a werewolf’s blood. Malia and Cora are just about to chase them away, when Talia hugs both eagerly. The Hales watch, horrified, as their alpha embraces the enemy.

“Thank you for saving Derek.” Those who were not present have stopped working, mouths agape in surprise. Stiles smiles in response. Allison is stiff in her arms, but nods. Xavier, Esme, Cora and Malia eye their weapons, the holster and daggers, the bow and arrows. They all give each other a look when Stiles barely acknowledges them, turning to Derek instead. 

“Sorry about your clothes.” He apologises, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. Derek gives him a look-over, finding the whole holster-of-blades-over-his-own t-shirt thing extremely hot. And he shouldn’t, they just got out of a life or death situation and there he is standing, thinking about how hot Stiles looks with his hair messy with sweat, his flexed toned muscles peeking through the bloodied shirt, the holsters on his waist and chest… it is all very incredibly arousing. Derek notices he hasn’t replied, clearing his throat he speaks in a low voice. 

“It’s okay.” Derek must feel warm from being chokehold too long, because suddenly it feels too hot.

“Why don’t you guys wash up in Derek’s room?” his mother suggests, walking away with Allison to the infirmary room. Allison turns with a wave, blowing a kiss Stiles’ way. Stiles and Derek are the only ones standing there in the middle of the hallway, awkward. 

Derek’s sure his mother is just teasing, lighting up the mood, but Derek takes it. “Let’s go to my room then.” Derek simply says, ignoring the thumbs up that Xavier gives him. They go up to Derek’s room for the second time that day, this time walking side by side. They’re silent all the way there, minds too caught up with other things.

Derek feels utterly useless. He gets there and the only thing he does is get choked. Even irresponsible Scott helped more than he did. He wasn’t even awake for most of it. He’s feeling smaller and smaller these days… useless. A liability. He deeply sighs, partly forgetting Stiles walking behind him. 

“Everything okay?” The boy asks softly. 

“Y-yeah.” It’s quiet again as they move up the staircase, shoulders brushing as they walk. They feel too conscious of the other; the warmth radiating from Derek makes goose-bumps appear on Stiles’ skin and the raggedy exhales from Stiles’ mouth makes the hair on Derek’s nape stand on end. They reach the door of the room with downcast eyes, refusing to meet the other’s.

“Thank you Derek,” Derek goes rigid, a hand on the door handle, “For earlier. Taking care of me like that… you didn’t have to but you did. It’s really nice of you.” Derek inhales a quick breath, “Is there anything I can do for you in return?” Derek turns, looking straight into the boy’s eyes. The boy who smells of lingering bloodlust, wolfsbane and danger. The boy who smells of old spices and coffee, of pinewood. The boy who smells like  _ home _ . They stare into each other’s eyes, Derek swears he saw Stiles steal glances at his lips a few times, in complete silence. Derek wants to say it’s okay, practically saving his life is more than enough-

“Read with me.” Derek curses to himself, his inner voice telling him to shut up, “Once a week, read with me.” His outer voice obviously doesn’t listen. 

Stiles blinks, visibly a bit shocked at the request, and Derek’s about to take it back, when Stiles simply nods and grins up at him, a bright, content one that reaches his eyes. Derek finds it beautiful, he should make Stiles smile like that more often. 

They walk in with a lighter mood, Stiles scanning the room, a slight grin still on his face. No longer in his drunken state, his pupils look around the room easily, taking it all in. Derek’s room had an old feel to it, several tall bookshelves aligned the walls, with thick books that can rival his own collection in age. It’s clean and organised, a clear contrast to Stiles’ where there’s always piles of papers on his desk and clothes on the floor. The desk is Oakwood, in its natural brown tones, and atop sat one ‘lone apple laptop. An open book sit next to it, round glasses Stiles saw him wear at the café resting on the pages. The ceiling spiralled into patterns, walls with golden framed paintings of the view outside Derek’s window. There’s one, thin tall mirror, frames a plain black. The wardrobe looks old and expensive - everything in the room does in actuality - and Stiles is about to sit on the king sized bed, when he realised the pillows are still in the circle he woke up in when Derek had left the room, finding himself bundled up. The butterflies that had exploded in his stomach were many, and the blush burnt his cheeks to his face. His chest was beating really hard, and he was happy no one was there to listen to it. 

“Why do you wear glasses?”

“Hm?” Derek hums from rummaging through his wardrobe. 

“You don’t need it right? Being a werewolf and all?”

“Yeah, those are clear lenses. I don’t know, I like it.” He shrugs, turning with a dark grey long sleeve and loose satin bottoms. Stiles’ pyjama bottom. “Sorry, the shirt didn’t end up washed.”

“It’s okay, I’ll wear whatever you give me.” Derek doesn’t like how pleasantly that sounds to his ears. Stiles accepts the clothes and just sits there, looking up at Derek. 

“You first?”

“Pardon?”

“In the shower.”

“O-oh.” Stiles scrambles out of the bed, walking to where he assumes is the bathroom door. He lands on his feet, crouched with his knees tucked in once the door closes. Stiles just imagined such horrendous things about the 20 year old man, of Derek barging in on him in the shower and joining him. Of them cleaning each other under the running hot water, the lingering gazes and rough kisses… He buries his face into the clothes he was given, embarrassed beyond relief. He never feels embarrassed about this kind of stuff, sexual acts felt natural to him. But god,  _ god,  _ he feels 12 again, thinking about the handsome, pretty man and his pretty teeth and his pretty voice. How worried Derek was, how patient he was with him, bundling him up and placing fucking pillows around him. How his gaze immediately softens once their eyes locked again.  _ Those fucking lips.  _ The hand gently stroking his cheek… Derek hasn’t been able to leave his mind since Scott told him how much Derek had taken care of him during his little two week hibernation. Maybe before that even, whispering to each other at the couch in the game room during the Hale dinner, walking around the mansion while making witty comments at each other. 

Stiles has never felt like this, about anyone, and it scares him. It isn’t just about physical attraction anymore, he’s genuinely so fucking attracted to  _ Derek.  _ Everything about the man is just so goddamn  _ attractive.  _ He’s pretty sure he’s going crazy. 

Once out the bathroom, smelling like Derek’s lemon and mint shampoo, he catches Derek on his phone, seemingly concentrating on reading something. Derek looks up at Stiles’ presence, locking his phone straight away. He walks over with a fond glint in his eyes, wrapping the towel from around Stiles’ neck to his head instead, rubbing it into his scalp. 

“You didn’t dry properly.” He mutters, rubbing the auburn locks and massaging the scalp like it was the most normal thing to ever occur. Stiles glances up, completely shocked, and Derek pulls away, ears red.  “Sorry, it’s a habit. I used to bathe my younger cousins, two I still do actually, So, it kind of stuck. I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission-”

Stiles cuts him off, “I’m not complaining. Just surprised. It’s nice.” Derek listens to his heart and Stiles seems to notice, “I’m not lying, see?” He giggles. Derek hesitantly places his hands back on Stiles’ head, as if waiting for Stiles to say no, resting it on the damp towel. When Stiles closes his eyes, he takes that as the cue to continue. As Derek works on rubbing the damp strands and softly massaging the scalp from the nape to near the temple, Stiles makes a small sound of approval that goes straight to Derek’s cock. Derek halts slightly, before rubbing behind the ears again, the sound that escapes Stiles’ mouth louder this time.  _ This is dangerous this is dangerous this is dangerous this is dangerous this is dangerous- _

“Why did you stop?” Stiles questions with open eyes; the warm shower in addition to Derek’s comforting hold on him so relaxing he almost whines when Derek stops. Stiles is drained, and all he wants to do is lay in Derek’s bed and have the man play with his hair. 

“It’s dry now.” Derek replies, voice a whole octave lower. It’s a lie to say Stiles didn't shiver slightly, loving the voice too much. Still in Derek’s hold, Derek felt the shiver, as if a reply to the deep huskiness of his voice. Derek likes it,  _ loves it.  _ He bends lower, right to Stiles’ ear as he talks, making sure to use that husky voice with a little growl. 

“You smell lovely.” He rubs that sensitive spot behind Stiles’ ear, and Stiles actually  _ moans.  _ Full out, moans. Stiles has never been this sensitive, others had put their mouth on his cock to even produce a sound. Yet the werewolf just  _ spoke  _ and touched his ears a little, making him _fucking moan_. They both stand completely frozen, Stiles just as shocked as Derek. He scurries away from Derek’s hands, his face absolutely burning. Derek kind of wants to bite the blush on Stiles’ neck. 

“Um, let's forget about that. That never happened okay? Fuck, erase it from your mind please. God so fucking embarrassing.” He covers his face, the holsters of blades and daggers still in his hands. Derek sees Stiles’ phone tucked in one, he finds it cute. Stiles begins to talk to himself, “WHY do you always have to embarrass yourself. Fucking hell Mieczyslaw.” Derek hears him start ranting in French, repeating “Merde” over and over. The door shuts, and Stiles’ rant nullifies out due to the soundproof rooms. Derek stands there, hands still where it was on Stiles’ head, his moan repeating over and over in his head. He didn’t even notice Stiles left the room. Derek drops his arms and punches a pillow out of nowhere, ripping it. 

“ _ ‘ _ You smell lovely’ You smell lovely?! Of course he does. You fucking,” He kicks a pillow, “What are you doing Derek! He’s 16. You have a girlfriend, whom you LOVE. He’s suspicious, secretive. You don’t even know how he feels. You don’t even know how  _ you  _ feel. It won’t work. Just,” He slumps down at the bed, “just.. Stop. It won’t happen, it can’t happen. This’ll backfire on you. You’ll be fucking miserable, people will get hurt again. Stop grabbing the wind.” He finishes, as he wallows in self pity. He then groans, really loudly.

* * *

As Stiles approaches the kitchen to snack on something before the meeting, his mind repeatedly returns to those moments. Of Derek’s rough, veiny hands working its way on his scalp, the circled rubs with those beautiful fingers- how comfortable and amazing being touched by Derek was, even through a towel. Derek’s voice, telling him how lovely he smells.  _ Bloody hell. _

“Stiles!” He turns to the voice of his friend, startled, “Lydia woke up!” Stiles brightens, all Derek thoughts away now. Well,  _ some.  _ Stiles follows Allison and into the infirmary, who’s now in someone else’s clothes, watching Lydia Martin try to fend off Donovan with a spoon.

“If you come near me I swear I’ll shove this spoon all the way down your throat until you’re coughing out silver.” She snarls out. Donovan laughs loudly, nearing to taunt and not exactly taking the threat seriously. 

“Lyds!” 

“Ally!” Lydia hugs Allison tightly with a relieved smile, and Donovan walks out to give some privacy. “Are you okay?” Allison questions, checking her face for any injuries.

“I’m fine! What’s happened? Last thing I remember…” Her voice trails off at the sight of Stiles, “I remember you. You were holding onto me, you were saying these things...” Lydia gives Stiles a soft look, the softest she’s ever given him, “You said the danger’s passed, you said everything’s fine I can wake up, you said I didn’t have to worry anymore…” Lydia stares at him is disbelief, at the holsters in his hand and the way he smiles at her. He’s said way more than that, but it was a moment only the two of them will ever know. Lydia stands and gives him a firm hug, thanking him. Allison stands and joins the hug, loving both her friends from the bottom of her heart.  “I was so fucking scared.” Lydia whispers, wrapping her arm around Allison too. Stiles does the same. 

“You don’t have to be, we’ll help you.” Stiles means it, being a banshee is no easy feat. It’s being surrounded by death for as long as you live. But that doesn’t mean you have be afraid of it. 

“I hate to break such a moment,” Laura says softly, “But Stiles, mum has asked for you in the meeting room.” She gives the other two a soft smile, before turning to close the door. Stiles squeezes both a little before reluctantly parting. 

“Ally should fill you in on the details Lyds.”

“It’s Lydia to you.” She scolds, smiling. 

When Stiles walks out, he finds himself being led to where he remembers the game rooms would be. Instead of taking a left, they continue further and up a flight of stairs. Laura opens the door for him, as Stiles walks in empty handed. He knew what the conversation would be, so he left his holsters with Allison so as to not alert them straight away and let them easily ask questions about it. 

The meeting room was humongous and spacious, high ceiled with a long table right across.  _ This must be where packs come and meet. _ Stiles eyes the door on the other side of the room as Talia Hale beckons him over. It looks like those big meeting rooms for CEOs but more vintage and ten times bigger. To walk across where Talia stands with the others felt like walking across a large clearing in the preserve. Long and stretched, also very awkward. Once he gets there however, he scans the persons present for this mini meeting before the big one. It feels more like an interrogation. It probably is.

“Hi Stiles, you wash up okay?” Everyone can smell Derek’s scent on him except for Deaton, and it once again reminds him of what happened in that room. Talia is horrible at small talk. He hopes no one mentions anything or he’ll definitely jump out a window.

“Yes.” He simply replies.

“Have a seat Stiles.” Stiles obliges, sitting by himself on one side. On the other side seats Peter, Nicholas, Donovan, Deaton and Laura. At the head, sits Talia Hale. Stiles waits for the alpha to carry on, “I just wanted your view on the events today. And ask a few questions of course.” Stiles nods, “Starting with this morning, if you may.”

Stiles starts with his oatmeal with blueberries, skipping over his morning wank bit. “School was pretty normal, glued by Scott’s side you know the gist,” As Stiles talks, the quieter everyone seemed, “It was after school when I got Allison’s call. I’ve been busy researching, as per usual,” he gives a cheeky grin, “And she was all panicky, saying Lydia found another dead body in the woods. So I went, zoom zoom in my jeep,” he puts his hands at 10 and 2, pretending to drive a car, “Then I went into the woods, you know where I was told to go. Then I heard a scream and just like every idiot in a horror movie, I ran towards it, And there, Lydia’s screaming, a stinky ass corpse on the floor, Allison’s gripping her ears, and not to mention Shaggy and his sidekick scooby just… standing there. Mysterious with the red eyes and all. Not to mention the ugly masks. They didn’t react when I moved towards Lydia, and to be honest I was too busy making sure the girl slumber party was still on to do anything about them. When you guys came, the werewolf hid in the trees behind Derek and the other- fucked off god knows where.”

“You said ‘they’ earlier.” Donovan interrupts.

“Pardon?”

“You said, ‘They were still there when you guys got there’, in the infirmary, how did you know the masked one was still there if you don’t know where he went?” Are they trying to catch him out or something? Stiles just sighed. 

“I was referring to the werewolf. I didn’t want to assume gender, well, I couldn’t exactly guess with all the werewolf stuff happening.” He gestures to his face, “Anyway, I passed out at some point apparently, woke up acting like a drunkard, went to sleep again, and when I woke up my father was flicking my forehead like his life depended on it.”

“Why were you acting drunk Stiles?” Donovan questions. Stiles turns to Deaton, smiling cheekily again. 

“Either the Banshee’s scream affected him differently somehow,” not a total lie, “Or something was done to him.” A lie. Deaton eyes him a little, a silent understanding with Stiles. 

“Okay, why did your temperature drop so low?”

“Again, either one of those two reasons as Deaton said.” Stiles calmly says. He continues, “With everyone just standing around relaxed I assumed the werewolf was dealt with and those masked people,” Before Stiles is questioned, he answers, “Allison was awake. I thought she would’ve told asap.”

“Why?” Peter interjects, “With all due to respect, she’s an Argent hunter. Why would she help werewolves? And with all due to respect again, not many of us would’ve believed her.”  Stiles nods at that, understanding of the Argent and Hale relationship. He thinks for a few seconds, then, he stupidly grins.

“Because she’s Allison.” That’s all he could say, because it’s the truth. No matter how many times it goes in a spiral in his head, he comes to one conclusion. It’s Ally.  “Carrying on, I told you guys who I saw and stuff. Derek ran outta there with his little cubs to make sure his family were okay, Donovan followed to stop him.”

“And where did you go Stiles?” Talia questions. He leans back, as if thinking really hard. He gives them a dark grin, darker than he intended. 

“We went to kill the werewolf.” The room goes silent.

“The ‘red eyes and all’?” Donovan asks, not quite believing what he hears. Though Stiles' steady heart says otherwise.

“Yep. That’s the one. Allison gave it two killing shots laced with this strong wolfsbane stuff, and BOOM,” he slams the table, “End of story for the big bad werewolf.”

“How about you Stiles? What did you do?” Peter questions, interest in the young boy piqued. 

“I fought it,” Laura gasps, “For ten seconds.”

“You fought alone, with a rogue alpha werewolf, for ten solid seconds?” Laura asks, leaning in as if listening to an old fairytale come true. 

“Well yes, I even counted.”

Peter, a bit sceptical, questions Stiles. “Can you tell me of any injuries you inflicted? If you did that is.” Stiles looks up, remembering the events as he counted to ten. 

“4” he mutters to himself, holding two fingers, “7”, he adds another finger, “9” he adds another finger. Remembering, he speaks, “The first was a stab to the tendon,” He puts a finger down, “A deep slash to the belly. A twisted blade in the shoulder,” he puts two fingers down, “and another slash to the nape.” 

Peter watches, connecting the dots and what Stiles means when he says he counted. Two injuries in four seconds, a twisted blade in three, a slash to the nape - one of the most protected areas on a werewolf’s body - in two. Laura speaks his mind.

“No fucking way. Four injuries on an alpha in 10 seconds?!” 

This is what Stiles wanted. Shock, fear, disbelief. If his plan is going to work, he needs the commanders of the Hale pack to understand they have a powerful foe on their side. Then, he’ll doubt them, making the Hale family distrust each other and cause trouble in their ranks, see what secrets come out and how many more are made. He’ll test them, in ability to fight alone, with others, with oneself. He’ll observe closely, get them to test their limits, exhaust them mentally and physically. How the pack comes together and separates. 

For what comes next, by observing how the Hales fought with the masked persons, Stiles reached one conclusion: They’re weak. They’re really fucking weak. If they don’t pass these tests, they’ll die. And Stiles doesn’t want them to die, not just yet anyways. Who knows, maybe he’ll change his mind. But for now, he’s set on making them stronger, staying alive. He wonders why he’s going so far for a family he’s only known for nearly only two months.

Derek’s beautiful reading form at the café pops into his head. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. filter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HELLO !! This is an edited chapter.

Stiles watches the sun hit its peak at the horizon, painting the blue sky a mixture of orange and pink hues, dying the blue almost violet as it travels further and further up. It never seemed to travel from the East then to West, always up and down; Teasing Stiles the meaning of many different perspectives when the reality definition is far from what you perceive it. 

Like now, one can argue that Stiles’ naked presence in a stranger’s bed was bold and wild, others disgusting and slutty, maybe some even comforting and free. However, the utter real definition, the humourous reality of all of it, is just one big void of emptiness. That empty feeling after a satisfactory long fuck, the reality of great sexual chemistry and nothing else. Not that Stiles complains, it’s just how he likes it, but when has sex for him felt so natural and stress-relieving? It’s nothing like how it’s been described in books, chest-filling and heart-warming. In actuality, with every lick to his ear, every touch of _that_ spot, every stroke on his skin, the warmth will flow from his chest to pool in the bottom of his stomach, leaving his chest _empty_ and gaping. Then Stiles will stare at that warmth staining the bed sheets with bitterness, reality sinking without a care for his consent: Stiles will never love someone like his father had loved his mother. He will never be loved like how his father was loved by his mother. Stiles has often wondered if love, along with grief, were taken away too. But then, surely he wouldn't be able to love his family, friends? Would love have different categories to Guardian Abe? Is it his subconscious finding a Stiles in love too dangerous?

He groans from his empty chest and lights a cigarette, his second one the past week. He should stop, he knows this, the smoke damages the spirit essence flowing in his chest but he finds himself huffing in the poison anyways. He smokes it lightly with small breathes, then a deep one at the thought of love. As extreme his emotions can be, there’s some he’s never felt before. Romantic love. Pure desire. Bitter jealousy. Obsession from love. He wonders what it feels like to desire for someone rather than the desire for his own release. It seems like a far away dream despite his young years, after all, he has hundreds of years to live. As he thought about his lifespan to comfort him (“I just haven’t found _the_ one”), it depresses him even more. No one has lifespans that long who exist in this dimension, this plane. He should get used to this empty feeling more so than already, for it’ll stick around for at least a good century. As cool it can be described as, the bottom line is he’ll be lonely. And it won’t change anytime soon, that's the reality definition of who he is. 

It’s one of the reasons he loves magic so much, the thought of his hand on fire from sheer will seemed unreal. It gave him hope - reality hasn’t caught up to him yet. He wonders what Scott would think if he saw him now, smoking a fag naked next to two bare, different bodies rolled around in the king-sized sheets. Drinking a glass of wine and watching the sun rise through the pretty glass windows. Pierced and tattooed with many scars on full display. Scott wouldn’t even recognise him - it makes him chuckle to himself.

He thought of Derek, the man ever so gloomy yet gentle. Pretty and intelligent. Derek had love, had pack. Would Derek know what romantic love feels like? Considering his partner's existence, that's more than likely a yes. Stiles has often fantasised having something with Derek, something hot and heavy, something chest-filling. He knows it won't happen. Stiles isn't stupid, he sees Derek's glances and hesitant touches. The weird, prolonging stares. Stiles is sure the only thing he'll ever get out of it is another long satisfactory long fuck, Derek looks at him the same way people at clubs do: lustful. Stiles finds it all quite funny, a taken man longing for him like that. 

Stiles went home knowing he’ll never meet the man and woman he shared such intimate moments with the night before, giving away parts of himself to such a variety of different people with no intention to recollect. The emptiness was good sometimes - it made him feel in control. He makes a mental note to return to that club: the people there were attractive and experienced. He throws the pack of cigarettes missing three, cursing at himself at the nasty habit that may occur if he continues. He walks into his empty home with a bag of gummy worms, then right back out to go see what Allison was up to. 

He only ever feels a little like himself with her after all. 

* * *

A typical day in the Stilinski household goes as follows: the young boy of the house tiredly rises early in the morning, only leaving the comfort of his bed after approximately six blearing of his alarms. After spending about an hour of meditation to calm his erratic, electrifying magic, he’ll then go for a quick 30 minute jog, deep into the woods. He’ll race through the branches, hurdle over wooden barks protruding from the forestry floor and bounce off trees to land on a large rock. His runs were always unpredictable, whimsical - free. The freedom gave him clarity, allowed his mind to roam independent from the usual spazz that it is. You can call the run a performance, maybe a bit dramatic, but it’s Stiles’ mind in physical form. The quick switches of his feet, his high dives and drops, quick reflexes and tumbles - it’s Stiles in purity. 

He always found himself led to the Nemeton, as if pulled towards it by invisible energies he doesn’t quite understand yet, and there he’d do his daily exercise. He’d place a firm hand on the earth and kick off the floor, suspending his legs in the air, steadily bringing his face to and from the tickles of grass with the extension of his elbow. He’d climb up high off a strong, ancient tree, swing off a branch with his legs like a monkey and bring himself upwards with the clenches of his stomach muscles. By the end of his (many would call extreme) routine, he’d gotten a substantial grasp of his emotions. Walking back to the comfort of his home, he’d think of his current problems and provide many possible solutions to it seeing that his mind no longer was the disastrous tornado that it normally is. 

As he leaps over the garden fences and strides back into the house, his father would’ve already risen and would sit with a bland bowl of cereal in the kitchen (Unless he was away on night shift). Stiles would always kiss his teeth and plop berries into the bowl, scolding his father again to have a much more nutritional breakfast. His father would wave him off with annoyance and tell him to “go wash your sweaty self”. 

After a quick shower, he dresses himself in whatever he holds onto first when he reaches into his closet; finding whatever he adorns himself in to work like clockwork - The usual rings coating his fingers and moisturizer soaking into his skin. He’d walk down with damp hair, finding blowdrying it a hassle with the hot california weather. He’d sit in the kitchen as the sheriff washes his bowl, taking out his favourite greek yoghurt which he squeezes some honey over, along with splattering some berries with diced banana.

He’d pull up at Scotts with a wicked grin, teasing him with as much as he desires. School would be uneventful, the duo sticking by each other’s side. Many times Scott asked Stiles to join the lacrosse team which Stiles bluntly declines with his busy, secret life: He doesn’t have time running around chasing after a ball smaller than his fist. The only thing has changed is the presence of Erica, Boyd and Isaac at lunch, sitting down with the two as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Granted they were new to the werewolf world as Scott, the three still deserted him at school. Scott’s first months at sophomore year without Stiles was horribly lonely, yet after the kanima incident the three began to slowly befriend the two. Stiles suspects Erica has something to do with it. He wonders why the three only started warming up to Scott now. 

After school, with Scott busy with lacrosse, he’d do one of the following three things: research and plan into the night, do some schoolwork and work on small magic - such as wards, tweak his glamour spell, check his limits and the protection ones on his father, or, lastly, covertly meet with Allison. The two have grown immensely closer, sneaking off to shoot bullets and arrows, throw blades and spar, or go to the cinema, bowling alley, arcades, bookstores and settle into a small cafe or diner for the night. Whatever suits their fancy at the time. He’d sometimes see Xavier’s lover waiter when he and Allison decide the consumption of a very good burger is in order after a lengthy spar. Stiles would wave to him, and the waiter would turn with a scowl. 

Sometimes, though on the rare side than nearer to the common side, Scott would call for a ride home from the Hales. Stiles swears Scott is only friends with him for the free taxi services. Stiles would comply on boring nights, though he’d always stay at the Hales longer than intended. He’d happily chatter with Xavier, Esme and Erica, the other Hales ignoring him or in Rose’s case, stare at him from afar, wave, and run away. 

Stiles met the youngest Hale member, Thomas, a 1 year old werewolf. It was more of an accident rather than a formal introduction- the boy came running into the living room bucknaked, with a heated Jennifer behind him, partially shifted and skedaddling off the walls. He hopped on Xavier happily, crawling on his head and sitting there with crossed arms. Stiles watches in fascinating astonishment as Jennifer tries to pry Thomas off of Xavier, mumbling a series of apologies. Stiles was surprised at first to learn Jennifer is human, which was at first glance when he woke up from his little hibernation, but nonetheless smiled. He’s met many packs that weren’t primarily only of werewolves, and he’s glad to find the Hales were the same. He then questioned himself on his contentment and frustratingly buried it in the back of his mind.

The young werewolf sniffed at Stiles, untangling himself from his big brother. He sniffs a little more, everyone else watching in anticipation, and all of a sudden Thomas is jumping on top of him eagerly and wrapping himself around the teenager. The baby rubs his cheek on Stiles’, scenting him. Xavier quickly yanks him away. 

“What did I say about scenting strangers? It’s very rude, especially if you don’t ask Tommy.” He scolds. Stiles does not often see Xavier’s serious, big brother mode though in conclusion he finds it quite adorable. Thomas shifts uncomfortably, not liking his big brother when angry. “Apologise.”

Thomas looks up at Stiles with puppy-dog eyes and all Stiles wants is to hug him close, “I’m sowwy.” He draws out, fidgeting with his little fingers.

Stiles smiles involuntarily, “It’s okay, just ask next time okay?” Thomas eagerly nods, “What's your name?”

“Tommy.” He answers, feeling restless with Stiles looking down at him. Stiles notices and leans down, eye contact with the boy, hopefully easing some nerves. 

“Nice to meet you Tommy, i’m Stiles.” Stiles puts a hand out for a handshake, though the little werewolf noses at his wrist instead. 

“You ‘mell nice.” Thomas says. Stiles’ smile grows wider.

“What do I smell like?” 

The boy smells some more, “You ‘mell like mummy.” He tilts his head, a bit confused. At that comment, the room’s tension shifts - Stiles ignores it.

“What does your mummy smell like?” Stiles casually asks. Jennifer moves forward, about to pick the baby up when Xavier places a hand on her shoulder, halting her. 

“Twees and-” he moves closer, holding Stiles’ wrist gently, “spicey?” He questions, looking up. “Do you cook like mummy?”

Stiles’ smile reaches his eyes, “Yes I do. What did your mummy make?” At that question the boy’s smile brightens. 

“Apples! Fweckle Apples!” 

“Is it good?”

“Yes! I ask mummy to make for you, but…” The boy looks down, clenching his hands, “Mummy not here.” Xavier watches his little brother start shaking, not daring to interrupt the very first time the baby has spoken about his mother since she ‘disappeared’. “Do you know wheh she is?” The baby asks Stiles, eager to know.

Not wanting Stiles to be burdened with such questions, Xavier moves to pick him up. Stiles surprisingly nods, answering, pausing the brother in his tracks. Her eyes trail the room, Colton and Rose have walked in with their father. Jennifer meets eyes with her husband who’s walked in.

“She’s in an amazing place,” Stiles starts, “The sky is always a light blue,” He holds his little hands, “ And there’s tall, golden wheats. It covers everything,” He exclaims, the baby listening intently, “It tickles you when you walk past,” he goes to tickle the boy’s armpits, knowing the belly is off limits and the baby giggles, “and it glows a little when it touches you.”

“Like my eyes?” 

“Yes, exactly like your eyes. There’s pretty floating sparkles, and the wheats part for you when you walk. It’s warm but not too hot, the wind is so refreshing you love the way it brushes against you,” Stiles feels more presence walking into the room, “You’re dressed in satin and silk and it flows behind you as you walk. The air is clean and fresh, filling your lungs as you step on the dirt. It’s calming when the breeze strokes your cheeks,” he strokes the boy’s cheek, “and grounding when your bare feet soak into the earth. You feel everything as if it was you and you them and you look up at the sky as if you can grab it. You’re never tired, hungry or sad.” 

“Mummy not sad?”

“No, not at all.”

“That good! 

The baby nods, “Okay, I wait like a good boy!” He looks at his biggest brother, who’s burst out into tears, “Bwother why you crying?” The little boy climbs Xavier, hugging his torso close and patting him. “Don’t be sad. Mummy not sad.” He whispers. 

Colton and Rose walk over, hugging their brothers, comforting their 22 year old brother. Stiles watches them for a bit as they too tear up. He catches eyes with Derek who’s squinting at him with a weird expression, walking right out. Donovan watches his oldest cry for the first time since he was a young boy, resulting in a fond smile stretched across his face. He gives Stiles a small thank you, before joining the hug with Xavier sobbing in the middle. Stiles watches as the rest of the pack slowly joins, a passing Cora and an awakened Malia joins too. The alphas, Nicholas and Talia join too, and suddenly there's a gigantic group hug in the middle of the living room. Stiles, feeling like he’s intruding, walks out of the living room, without a final glance to the group. They all have each other, Xavier would be okay. 

Stiles thought of his mother as he stands alone, peering over her in the hospital bed. The sound of the beep, the only thing keeping her alive, resonates in the room and rests in his heart with a miserable, bitter after taste. No one came to hug him from behind, or even rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. He’d stand, waiting for someone to come, be with him as he waits until that beep turns into a continuous screeching noise of death. The first month was the loneliest he’s ever felt. His babcia wasn’t there, nor was his father. He gives the closed room a tired smile.

It unnerved him at the possibility that Donovan’s dead mate is an avoided topic, considering he has been just asked by their baby of his mother’s whereabouts - of all people. A stranger. Then again, the baby mentioned his similar scent to the dead mate, maybe marking a trust the spark doesn’t understand. Werewolves view things differently, with their heightened smells and hearing. They never relied on words much, as it’s never needed. He’s shocked a 1 year old werewolf understood such vocabulary said to him. Though it seems communication lately has been pretty bad with the inclusion of a stranger in personal, Hale pack problems. Maybe the Hales trust him more than he had thought. Or he has just been at the right place at the right time. 

“You didn’t lie.” Derek says from behind him, blankets and water bottles in hand. He turns, opening the living room door. Stiles stares at Derek’s retreating back with a few blinks. After a few moments, Scott emerges from a hallway. It’s just like him to take such a long time in the bathroom. 

“Why are you just standing there?” Scott questions, confused at the closed living room doors.

“We’re leaving.” Stiles simply states, walking out. Scott frantically follows with many questions.

Stiles didn’t see the young Thomas after that, and he wondered if he overstepped boundaries many times. Spite that, what’s done is done. Xavier came to thank him the next time he saw him and Stiles didn’t really know what he was thanking him for, so he just nods. Same with Colton and Rose - giving him a pair of earrings, light blue grains of wheat. 

* * *

Derek came out the shower physically refreshed as his consciousness. He thinks of Victoria’s fiery red hair, light brown eyes with twinges of yellow, her plump pink lips and the softness her voice brings. Some might even call her Derek’s mate, having been together for a year, and werewolves who are together that long more than likely mates eventually, or are already mates. Derek frankly finds the pressure plain uncomfortable, and Victoria would look up at him with fondness in her eyes whispering, “I can wait.” 

Victoria is everything Derek isn’t: warm, friendly and can be quite a chatterbox with the right people. She’ll hold Derek in her hands, whisper to him at how amazing a being he is. At how intelligent, thoughtful and gentle. Without her, he has no clue how much deeper he would have delved into that sinking darkness. But Derek hasn’t been thinking about her at all, ever since Stiles fainted in his arms. He feels guilty, his mind shouldn’t be thinking of another like that, think of another the way he thinks about Victoria. Because he loves her, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. Derek shall tell Stiles that he doesn’t have to read with him every week. He’ll tell him and they’ll distance and everything will be as it should be.   
  


He hates him after all, his dangerous secretive self. Derek should hate him, should loathe him from the depths of his being, but he doesn’t. He cares for him, much more than he thinks. He finds Stiles alluring, frightening, a little sassy, even bold, but he does not hate. And he hates how he feels these things, hates how he can not hate. He needs to avoid Stiles at all cost, before this bewitched spell placed on him takes over everything. He doesn’t want Stiles, he shouldn’t. Stiles screamed danger, someone you shouldn’t be involved with. Derek knows more than anyone to listen to danger signs, to listen to his instincts. As spellbounding Stiles was, Derek can not allow himself to fall for it - it can cost him everything. 

He walks to the meeting room, mug in hand, firm on his decision. His mind spirals to those masked men, his mother desperately calling his name, and the firm holds on his throat. He shivers, how horrible it was. Surprisingly, everyone is already there, including Lydia and Allison with the exception of Esme and her trusty sidekick Xavier - Rose, and the two youngest Hales too are not there. The long table is a lot shorter than usual, making the enormous room somehow bigger. Everyone is standing. Derek’s confused, but moves to sit randomly on a chair. 

“Derek, stand.” Derek perks at the voice of his aunt Jennifer’s, he gives her a raised brow. Derek scans the room, only soft chatters which overlap each other can be heard. Derek chooses to stand, sipping his mug, surprised to find Colton’s presence there. The only one who isn’t here is Stiles. The werewolves in the room have an obvious distance from the banshee and hunter, Nicholas the only one talking to them. Derek tries to make out some sort of the conversation, when all of a sudden the doors open. Xavier and Esme walk in together, freshly smelling of soap. They walk straight to his mother without meeting anyone’s eyes, muttering something so low he’s sure only the female alpha can hear it. 

Shortly after, Stiles walks in, though not from the main doors, but right to the other side where Lydia and Allison are. Derek knows those doors reach out to a flight of stairs, to the other side of the mansion, where packs can pull up in their cars and walk straight up to the meeting room without needing to intrude in the Hale home. Stiles gives Allison and Lydia a smile, his holster attached to his waist and sides. He looks straight to the alpha, “Talia, please.” Derek’s mother nods with an indescribable expression, walking towards him with Deaton behind her, and soon the three are behind the closed doors. 

Everyone looks to the three confused except for his uncles, sister Laura, his father and the girls. His father doesn’t even stray conversation from the girls to give a glance of acknowledgement.

“This is weird. This is weird right?” Cora comments, watching the way her father laughs at a joke Allison makes. _Tell me about it._ Derek doesn’t stray his eyes away from those doors.

It’s a few minutes before Stiles walks back in with Derek’s mother and the emissary. Derek watches his mother nod at his father, which must be some sort of cue because he starts to speak. Stiles talks a little in hush whispers with the banshee and hunter, smiling, before walking out the back with both and disappearing. 

“Hello, thank you everyone for coming,” Nicholas rubs his hands together, his long curly hair hugging his cheeks, “As one of the alphas of the Hale pack, I hereby declare the first strategy meeting of the 26th generation of the Hale Pack.” Derek looks at his sister, Cora, in shock, “Now, quieten down. Scott stop eating the bowl of sweets.” Malia and Erica giggle at him, then all of a sudden, all playfulness disappears by Nicholas’ voice. Now, the only time someone has ever heard Nicholas’ alpha voice meant only one thing: you were about to die. 

Nicholas is one of the nicest, most caring beings you’ll ever meet, a soft voice to match his soft look of big soft lips and eyes, curly black locks and bushy eyebrows. Right now, he was anything but soft.

“I said, **quieten down.** ” Derek visibly shivers. He’s never heard such a commanding, icy voice from his father. Not from when he tore the curtains as a boy, sneaked out at night to party with his friends, or even when he almost drowned Cora in the pool. All the Hale children never have, and it shocks them to the core. It silents them rapidly. 

“Good,” HIs father returns to his normal soft voice, though in a detached way. Derek doesn’t like this cold version of his father, it fucking scares him, “This is an official meeting. For the very first meeting, seats are assigned according to your role in the pack. For some of you who’s never attended such meetings, I shall tell you where to sit. Listen closely.” The room is quiet as the male alpha calls out names. “Firstly my seat,” He beckons to one end of the table, near the doors that led outside, “And on my left seats the newest additions to the pack, that’s you Scott, Isaac, Boyd and Erica.” The four sit without any delay, not wanting to piss off the werewolf, “Next to Scott seats Irma, though she is busy with Thomas, Rose and Lance. We leave the seat empty. Someone’s seat in the pack is only taken if they have left the pack, or died.” Malia doesn’t like the way Nicholas says that so simply, “Next to her seats Malia and Cora, the youngest fighters who can participate in the meeting.” They give Colton a confused look but sits, “Next to the two is Xavier and Donovan - The lead fighter and his next one in line.” Obviously Xavier’s never been told he’ll be taking over his father’s position one day, because he’s sitting there beaming life a fucking lunatic.

“Next to Donovan is the next Alpha, Laura, and next to her, Talia’s right, is our emissary.” 

With Talia’s right completely filled up, the rest stand a bit awkward as they wait for Nicholas to continue, “On Talia’s left, is Peter and his next successor, Colton.” The room burst into murmurs at this, including Colton himself who looks a bit bewildered. It’s not everyday you see such an expression on him. The male alpha flashes his eyes, and once again the room silences, “Next to Colton is the next beta trainer and informat, Derek. Next to Derek is Esme, the next left hand’s partner, “ Esme is silent, she’s been given her mother’s former position, “Then it is Lance and Rose, who are not here. Next to Rose would be the denmaker,” He gives Jennifer a soft smile, “That’s you Jennifer.” Then there’s four seats left, on Nicholas’ right. 

“The guests will sit on my right,” He turns to the three who have returned, the only ones still standing, “our new ally, Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent- our ally’s trusted friend -and their friend the banshee, Lydia Martin.”

At the mention of the banshee, murmurs start to rise again as the three sit, an empty seat between Lydia and Jennifer the only thing separating them.

“By ally, do you mean?-”

“Yes Esme. The Hale pack and Stiles Stilinski now have an alliance.” It really occurred to Derek then, that Stiles wasn’t in the meeting for being present earlier, a mere bystander, but an important person to the meeting. It would explain all the sneaking around. Derek definitely doesn’t think about how good Stiles looks in his shirt, _no way._

His father seats himself and smiles at everyone, “Before we start, I just wanted to tell everyone how brilliant you guys were. Especially our new additions to the pack,” The new betas give sheepish grins except for Boyd, who cocks a nervous eyebrow, “Thank you to everyone involved. The meeting today will be some explanations that’s needed, and about some new things that will happen.”

“Why is the Hunter girl here?” Cora queries. Nicholas is about to answer when Allison speaks.

“My name is Allison, not hunter girl,” She gives a small smile, “I’m here to help.”

“Help? What makes you think we want your help?!”

“You don’t. But clearly your alphas do.” She retorts with no malice. 

“The last time an Argent-” Derek flinches, “was even remotely trusted-”

“I am not my aunt!” Allison shouts fiercely, slamming the table, “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to a murderer.” The meeting whooshes into an eerie silence, an utter disgusted look plastered over the girl’s face as if just thinking about the particular relative made her want to puke her insides out. The girl breathes out a little heavily. “I understand if some of you do not like my presence due to my last name, but I’m not here as an Argent, but as Scott and Stiles’ friend.” She glances between the two with a shy smile. 

Allison is so fucking tired of being manipulated by her mother and grandfather. Some days she even suspects her father’s intentions. She has never felt so stressed to be home, pretending to be weaker than she actually is. They’ll put things in her head, blaming a 15 year old Derek for the cause of all this ‘mess’, how inhumane and monstrous the Hales are. She’ll stare at them, tired of all this bitching about and remember all those times Stiles has described Hale to her: gentle, bookworm, pretty, intelligent, thoughtful, protective and… Hurt. Her family had done that to them, she doesn’t want to be the same. But it’s not a lie to say she feels so alone among her family; she misses her grandmother more than ever.

“Our alliance with Stiles extends to his friends.” Nicholas finishes. Talia clears her throat, starting to explain the events from the day: “Today we were all alerted by a scream. Peter and I, along with the new cubs followed it. It was the scream of Lydia, a banshee.” Everyone turns to the strawberry blonde, who refuses to look at anyone by Allison.

“A banshee is a bringer of death, someone who wails as a warning for upcoming deaths.” Deaton explains, “The scream wasn’t a threat, it was a warning.” The room’s mood darkens, the werewolves do not exactly like where this is going. 

The Hale pack has never felt more uncomfortable than ever. Here, an Argent sat with them, a supposed Banshee with screams that will give them dreading nightmares, and an enigma called Stiles Stilinski, one with skills and secrets unknown to them. Malia feels kind of sick, the memory of being under fiery rubble flashed back when she glanced over at the huntress. 

Talia began to explain the events from her perspective, from meeting with her mate and the arrival of her daughter, shortly followed by masked enemies. Talia does not go into gruesome details, ending it with the mention of the huntress and Stiles’ help. 

“Who are these masked men?” Cora questions. 

“Not who, what.” Peter says with a snicker.

“They are called Umirs,” A flick of familiarity passes Colton, “They are vicious creatures. With the speed of vampires, strength of werewolves and the intelligence of djinns. Their primary diet is shapeshifters.” The last sentence sends off in a shock of wave, one by one of the young Hale pack realising what Deaton had just said. The emissary continues, not at all bothered by the panic from the betas. “The Hale pack has been marked by a group of Umirs and they do not leave until each one of us is eaten. The Umirs are said to only attack their marked pack every fortnight, killing a few at a time every new and full moon. They leave the alpha ‘till last, weakest ones first. Umirs are very old creatures, said to be a descendant of the very first vampires.” Deaton speaks, casually continuing the conversation, “They have the following similar feature: They look human with a perceptive beautiful beauty, silver glowing eyes, four sharp fangs which can hide and show and amazing healing abilities.”

“The silver glowing eyes get darker and darker the more werewolves they eat, their leader usually has an almost black shade to it. The more shapeshifters eaten, the stronger you get.” Donovan adds coolly. 

“Their weaknesses are their heart, stomach, silver and wolfsbane.”

Peter nods, “The irony.” 

“They get their power from the flesh they eat, so immobilizing them from being able to consume is the same as killing them.”

“So what is this meeting for? Let’s go kill them right now.” Malia argues, wanting to leave. 

“Umir groups only targent packs half their size.” Deaton informs them. 

“That means... “ Cora drifts out. 

“Yes, the Umir group has 40, at the least, Umirs.” _What the fuck?_ Everyone seems to think the same as Derek, as panic and disbelief floods the room. Derek feels a bit suffocated, the air must’ve left his lungs at some point. The new betas, having fought some already, aren’t as shaken up as the others, though they give each other concerned glances.

“ **Do not panic.”** Talia reassures in a protective, assertive tone. “Those who do not wish to fight do not have to.” Talia whispers, gazing at the three youngest in the room. Cora notices. As always, she’s always been oddly observant. 

“I’m fighting,” Core declares, “I want to fight.” Her confident voice is steady when she speaks, though the utter terror radiating from her that the Weres can smell tells otherwise. 

“If she is, then I am too.” Malia joins, voice shaky. 

Talia switches her attention between the two, boundless pride blooming in her chest for her two youngest fighters. She gives them a smile. “Stiles.” She calls, beckoning him to speak.

Stiles rises, formally introducing himself. “Stiles Stilinski, in alliance with the Hale pack.” He bows dramatically, smiling over everyone in the midst of anxious sweating and dread pooling into a boundless void inside their bodies. “Help shall arrive in 3 days.”

“Help?” Erica squeaks out. 

Stiles’ grin grows, “Another werewolf pack.”

“Which one?” Esme questions, glancing to the silent Xavier, “Satomi Ito? Talbot?”

“The Deucalion pack.” Again, Colton recognises the name, though others are confused, having never heard of the pack. 

“What are we paying for this help?” Colton asked calmly. Derek understands what’s happening the moment Colton speaks, having recognised the name though couldn’t place who the pack were. He looks worriedly at his mother. 

“My company.” Stiles smirks. 

* * *

The non pack members left without a glance after a few quick words with Nicholas and Talia. Xavier and Esme gave Stiles a small hug after they returned with Stiles’ jeep, and the boy thanked them excessively for taking care of his Roscoe. Derek didn’t get to tell Stiles what he wanted to. They left the Hale mansion conflicted and anxious, or in Lydia’s case, the perfect time to freak out.

“I can’t believe this. I’m a fucking _what-”_ Allison tries to reassure her as Lydia hyperventilates and as Stiles attempts to remember to drive on the right side of the road. Lydia then goes numb, whispering continuously to herself. 

“How is she?” Stiles turns a curve, driving for a street a few blocks away from Allison’s house. 

“Bad, she’s really freaking out.”

“I’M A FREAK!” Lydia shouts, hands clasped over her mouth. 

“No Lydia, you’re a generous person who warns people of their inevitable death like the amazing, kind person you are.” Stiles gives a cheeky beam at her from his view mirror, which she responds with a scowl. 

“I can’t leave her like this.” Allison says, hugging Lydia close. 

“Can’t she stay with you?”

“Parents.” Allison replies, having gone on many rants to Stiles about her overbearing birth-givers that the one word can explain all there is needed, “Her place is empty, go there instead.” Allison suggests. 

“How about my place? There’s my presence, Stiles, the Sheriff’s son, me and did I mention myself?” Stiles licks his lips, shooting his eyebrows up and down. 

“Your dad?”

“Cooking dinner.”

“What are you doing driving so slow then? Step on that pedal Sti.”

“Yes ma’am!”

The three sit side by side on one of the Stilinski sofas, stuffed to the brim with steak and potatoes. Lydia complained at first, something about watching her diet, then the Sheriff started cooking her steak and all previous comments disappeared into thin air. The girls head up to Stiles’ room as Stiles stay behind to clean up with his father. 

“Thanks for the dinner dad.”

“That’s alright. Mind telling me what’s going on?” The father hopes his son says yes, as anymore secrets between them would absolutely tear them apart. Noah listens intently as Stiles sums it up while wiping glasses. 

“How about you dad? Has the whole kanima thing finally been sorted?”

“I thought it was. Then bodies started turning up again, courtesy of Lydia, and now the FBI are on my case,” He deeply sighs, “They’re coming in about a week to investigate the high frequency of murders. My head hurts just thinking about it.”

“You know who’s coming?”

“Not yet, Talia and I have been covering up a lot before they come.” Stiles pats his father’s broad back, sending his support. 

“If you want your Sparky son to help with some body burying- I mean, evidence burying, I’m right here.” The sheriff stares at his son with suspicions, laughing a little before slapping the back of his son’s head. 

“Get your ass upstairs, I’ll do the rest.” Stiles makes an ugly cackle before hugging his father and dashing upstairs. 

The two sit with cross legs on Stiles’ bed, glancing around the room. Strangely, Allison’s never been in his room, the two spending time training or getting their bellies stuffed. 

“How are you feeling Lydia?”

“Better. Still a lot to take in though.” She replies, staring at the books spread across the bed with small shakes of her hands. Stiles makes a nervous laugh, grabbing the mess he hastily left to go to Allison’s aid. He shuts the books before Lydia can read anymore, shoving them in his closet. 

“Why were they all in latin?” Lydia questions, peering at him with those scary eyes that you can just sink into, drowning in the depths of her emerald green irises as she skins you down to your soul and watches you whither in your own demons. Her eyes are so scarily beautiful.

Stiles chooses to avoid the question, “I’m learning.” She continues to stare, before nodding and moving to touch the candles on his desk.

“How come you’ve never brought me here?” Allison accuses, stroking Stiles’ cow skin closet. 

“You never asked, you dipshit.” He retorts, opening his drawer. 

“Okay, silk, black full set pyjamas, or,” He holds up something furry with spots, “giraffe onesie?”

“Onesie!” Allison shouts. 

As the three squish into Stiles’ bed, laptop out, Lydia stares at Stiles and Allison weirdly as the two fold into each other in a giraffe and cow onesie. She decides to place the laptop on the desk and join them, awkwardly more laying on top of them. She strokes her silk pyjamas. 

“I wish I can stay like this.” Allison comments, playing with Stiles’ hair on her belly, “My mum is getting worse day by day. She’s starting to choose my friends, what I do with my time, spew even more lies about how horrible werewolves are. Especially the Hales,” Her voice turns deeper with a slight edge of an accent, _“Those damn Hales said lies about your aunt and now she’s being punished for something she didn't do._ I don’t even think she knows I know the truth.” Lydia, subconsciously brings a hand to Allison’s hair, stroking the soft strands. Allison smiles up at her. “My aunt’s a murderer.” Lydia’s hand stills meanwhile Stiles stops humming. 

“She tried to kill innocent children, like she has many times before. She manipulated a 15 year old. I.. when did she become like that? I’ve always loved my aunt for how kind and fun she was. I wonder, was that even real?” Allison lets out a trembled breath, clenching her eyelids. 

“Yes it was,” Stiles says, “People show different sides of themselves to different people.”

“Somewhere inside her she didn’t want to you see her like that.” Lydia adds, the first she's talked since she's slipped into some pyjamas. Allison loudly groans, before looking up to Lydia’s eyes.

“How about you? What have you been thinking about?” Lydia blinks, then gives a sad laugh. 

“Just found out I’m not human, I don’t know what to think.” Allison nods, reaching up to stroke her friend’s cheek gently. “Honestly, it didn’t feel real but now… It’s very real.” Lydia ruffles her hair in frustration, then silence.

“Huh? Why am I crying?” Tears start to trickle down her cheeks, “Why won’t it stop?” Allison reaches out a hand to caress her arm, slowly bringing her into a tight hug as Lydia sobs into her shoulder. After a few moments, Allison joins her. The two weep into each other’s comfort, gripping tightly on each other as if, if they don’t hold tight enough they’ll break. 

Although the supernatural community was explained to Lydia properly, she hasn’t come to accept it. That her boyfriend killed all those people at the sheriff station, that her boyfriend bares fangs and claws. Her whole world was turned upside down, how can she sit and accept everything so easily?

Stiles brings both in his arms, whispering sweet things and rubbing their backs, just as his mother has done for him when he crinkled her shirt with his tears and tightened his desperate grasps around the cotton with his fists. 

“My mum’s gonna kill me.” Allison rubs her puffy eyes, “She’s going to decapitate me.”

“Not if the Umirs do it first.”

“Stiles! Not funny.” Stiles cackles. 

“If she ever found out what i’m doing, she’ll probably move me to another country.”

“Then don’t let her find out.” Lydia states, chewing on a strawberry.

“Why _are_ you helping the Hales? And don’t use me as an excuse like earlier.” Stiles picks a strawberry for himself, swallowing it into his mouth whole. Lydia raises a brow as she nibbles on hers. Stiles shoves her to leave him alone.

“And don’t tell me it’s because of what your aunt did. As guilty as you feel, you know in your heart you’re not her.” Lydia adds, meanwhile cursing at Stiles. She eyes her up and down, “This has nothing to do with a certain chiseled, tilted jaw is it?” She and Stiles share a knowing look as a crimson blush creeps its way into the huntress’ cheeks. 

“It has nothing to do with Scott!”

“We never said his name?” Stiles teases. 

“Ugh- I hate you guys.” She buries her burning cheeks into the sheets, wriggling about in embarrassment. 

“We’re not going to die right?” Lydia asks, staring at Stiles. 

Stiles licks his bottom lip, “Eh I don’t know, eventually maybe?”

“I’m serious!”

Stiles smiles with his brown eyes, “No, I won’t allow it to happen Lyds.” She doesn’t correct the nickname this time. 

Stiles realises the slumber party actually happened. The universe is funny like that. 

  
Stiles deeply sighs. Here he is, in a diner, with Allison, Lydia and Scott. Scott has messaged him the next morning, needing to ‘talk’, which resulted in all four them squished in a booth together. Scott eyes the three of them for a second, watching Allison wipe Stiles’ mouth annoyingly. 

“What else are you not telling me.” He scoffs. Stiles eyes him from his curly fries, an eyebrow raised. “You could’ve at least told me you got a girlfriend.” Lydia shuts her mouth from laughing, finding Scott pouting annoyingly funny. 

“I don’t have one?” Stiles questions more than states, “I’m a single pringle mate.” 

“You don’t need to deny it.” Scott kisses his teeth, biting into a burger angrily. Lydia right out laughs, giggling into her hand. The three stars at her confused, then it clicks in Stiles’ head. 

“You think I’m with Allison?” He questions, trying to suppress a smile. Allison gives the boys looks, before sipping her milkshake.   
  


“No use hiding it. At least tell me this, since you won’t tell me anything else.” He pouts a little more in sadness, feeling untrusted. Stiles munches on a bit more of curly fries, before deciding to speak.   
  


“I’ll tell you what I told your alphas,” he starts, “I have a friend, we were on holiday. He got attacked by a rogue alpha, given the bite,” he squirts some ketchup and mayonnaise on top of each other, mixing the two sauces with a fry. “The Deucalion pack was given the job to find the rogue alpha. The pack met us, promised us they’ll help my friend with controlling the bite as long as we help them navigate in the terrains we knew so well, where the rogue alpha was hiding. They found it, killed it, and my friend was packless. He joined their pack, I stayed with him until he can control it, and along the way I learnt how to fight werewolves. That’s all there really is to it.” He finishes, talking naturally as if talking of the weather. Scott gives him a look, one of pity and worry. 

”Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t think I needed to. You were in a similar situation were you not?” Scott flinches, “You got bitten by a rogue.” 

“How do you know that?”

”Talia told me,” He lies, “And Scotty,” he smiles, putting an arm around Allison, “What if I am dating Allison?” Allison looks up at him, about to huff out curses. 

“I’d-I’d tell you I’m happy for you.” Both Stiles and Lydia scowl at him. 

“Ahh this isn’t fun,” Stiles comments, taking his arm off his friend and returning to his fries, “You’re supposed to go all wolfy, claiming her as yours and battling me to the death.” He exclaims, hand turned to fist with a determined grin. Allison blushes a little at the thought of being claimed by Scott. 

“Why-Why I cl-claim her?” He stammers, embarrassed. 

“I don’t know Scott,” he says teasingly, “Why would someone ever claim someone as theirs?” He gives Lydia a look, and together they burst into a fit of giggles. “Come Scott, it isn’t rocket science. Why would you get all upset I’m dating Allison, which by the way, I most totally am not. Not in this lifetime or the next.” He shivers, just the thought of it making him uncomfortable. He watches the two lovebirds get redder and redder.

Stiles is having way too much fun, it’s like when his friends from Mierdo started getting all self-conscious and blushy with each other, he and the others would tease them with no end. Thinking of them always makes him a little sad, he did spend mostly everyday of the past nine years with them - they’re practically family. He decides to change the subject. He takes Scott’s warm hand hands into his own, speaking in a soft serious voice.   
  
“There are things I can’t tell you Scott, all of you,” he looks around the table, to Allison who’s almost like a younger sister, to Scott who's like a younger brother to him and to his new friend Lydia, who he knows he’ll be really good friends with, “just yet, but please know I really do love you all. I’ll do anything to keep you guys safe. Really, anything.” 

Three responds with gleaming smiles, “It’s okay Sti,” Allison starts, “You don’t have to tell us everything until you’re ready. We trust you.” Stiles is so thankful for them, and he really means it when he says he’ll do anything for them - anything. 

Allison then starts conversation about Scott’s work at the vets. Both Stiles and Lydia stare at them with mischievous looks, then starting a conversation on their own about their latest physics project. No one mentioned banshees or werewolves or hunters, nothing was questioned of Umirs or any like regarding the supernatural community. The four felt normal for the first time in a long time and Stiles was thankful he had them. Especially with Lydia’s scream when she remembered they had school. It was twelve in the afternoon, so the three just watch Lydia panic over her perfect attendance being ruined.   
  
Stiles’ mind travels to his father. His tired eyes, the dark eye bags, the messy hair. His father’s exhausted smiles. Stiles wonders if there’s anything he could do, reduce the burdens just a bit. Having the FBI question you constantly can be pretty tiring with having to be kept on your toes, so he thinks of anything to help his father.

Then it drifts to the Hale pack, the protectors of these lands. He thinks of the alphas, the female one sharp and intimidating, the male round and soft. He thinks of their sharp, intuitive left hand, the way the man smiled at the madness that is Stiles Stilinski- he makes a mental note to be extra wary of Peter.

He thinks of the Hale children, the distinct features of a Hale with their perfect chiseled faces and dark hair. He thinks of Derek, of his arms and stubble. His room and bed which smelled amazing, the tension they have when they’re alone in a room together. But he has someone, and it isn’t Stiles’ style to get with a taken person. He’s a possessive lover who’s never been _in_ love, and trying to have a one night stand with someone as gentle as the Hale will never end well. Friends are a good place for them to be, not too far nor too little. He wonders why Derek cares for him so much; one minute Derek is giving him a fond look as if completely enamoured, taking care of him as if they’re really close, the next he’s menacingly glaring annoyed, either completely ignoring Stiles or scowling at him. Stiles hates it. It’s pretty obvious he has a small crush on the man, staring at him every chance he gets and taking every opportunity of being alone with him. He thinks of their arrangement, meeting every week. Stiles is more than okay with it, he gets to know more about Derek and silently support the Hale’s relationship. Letting someone be more than a friend will not end well. Friends is a good place for them, the only place for them.

Nothing more. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umirs, Reading with Derek every week, the Deucalion pack - Stiles is one busy sixteen year old.


	9. PLEASE READ {writer's break}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!! PLEASE READ!!!

Hello everyone!

As some of you have noticed, I took down chapter nine. I read over the entire work again, and for some reason, chapter nine felt very out of place. I then analysed my works as i would in English and found many problems, the biggest which is my evident value of quantity rather than quality. Considering how I did not update at all between early august and early october, I assume I felt as if a chapter a week (or two) should be the minimum, which is VERY short. 

This made my pacing weird, I focused way too much on the plot from the get-go (so much fucking plot??) and for some reason my side characters seem more developed and interactive than my mains?? (Sterek) which has been very bugging me. I also hate how I keep switching POVs randomly between paragraphs - the inconsistency is driving me insane. YES I KNOW I WROTE IT but I also wrote it during stressful, procrastinating periods where literally writing _anything_ felt way better than writing my essay due in five hours. 

I can confidently say I can do way better, which I will, since even the idea of not re-writing it out in my _own time,_ making sure I _myself_ enjoy writing it is literally keeping me up at night. My toes curl, in absolute cringe, when I read the such forced settings of my latest chapters GOD I should be improving not getting worse !!

Bottom line is, I'm rewriting everything from chapter two (including chapter two itself), and I thought about deleting this work, but that would mean not many whose bookmarked it can find it again, so this will still be here, and the new chapters will replace the old ones all at once, as to not confuse readers. There would not be any major changes, just much more consistantancy and naturalness with dynamics and relationships, also, less awkward. The plot is simply much the same though introduced smoother, and instead of jumping weeks in every chapter, it'll have much more flow, which I love. I am so sorry you guys have read such embarrassing stuff :(

ALL NEW CHAPTERS WILL BE POSTED, AT THE LATEST, BEFORE XMAS BREAK OR DURING !!

THERE WILL BE 10 CHAPTERS IN TOTAL, 

SEVEN EDITED,

TWO NEW.

(i lied btw, the edited chapters will have a different feel and starting points, also some personality changes LMFAO)

SIDE NOTE - The chapters would just be edited, not deleted, so comments from the original may be confusing and completely unrelated. If it is that annoying, feel free to just ignore them. I like to read them, boosts my serotonin levels. 

If you've read this far, you're a such a homie and I love you, if you didn't, since you were here, I love you anyways - I appreciate you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna be content and proud of each word, sentence, and paragraph I write, knowing it all ties together beautifully. 
> 
> I want to write this story and finish, knowing I did the best I could. 
> 
> Thank you so much btw, writing fanfiction has made me such a better writer, gave me confidence knowing there's people who very much enjoy this. 
> 
> I want to enjoy it too. 
> 
> Till next time, camille


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